Selected Scenes from the End of the World
by Anonymous150
Summary: Life's all about the moments that change and shape you in to the person you'll one day become. These are the moments and people in Jon Moxleys (Dean Ambrose) life that left a scar, left an impression, fueled his fire and turned him in to the man he is today. What reality lurked behind the promos? Remembered through echos from his past. Primarily set in 2008.
1. Street Dog

_Authors Note: This will not be easy reading so if you're looking for warm fuzzies look elsewhere. However, as well as Moxley/Ambrose you'll find many 'guests' appearing from the Wrestling world and even a little romance.. kinda. Do not read if you have issues with tough subjects such as abuse, drugs, alcoholism, depression, sex, etc. You have been warned._

The place smelled like detergent. An almost overpowering, suffocating scent that hit the back of his throat the moment he stepped through the doors into the lobby to sign in. It was his first visit to the place and another step forward in his long road to recovery, so he kept telling himself anyway. If he ever wanted to make peace with the past and find some kind of stability in his life, if he ever wanted to stand a hope in hell of slaying the demons within, he needed to do this. But everything about it made him feel sick to his stomach. He hadn't seen the woman in years, not since he'd walked out of that hovel she called a home and extricated himself to the streets. He'd rather live on his own terms, he'd rather live with nothing, have nothing, nobody, not even a roof over his head. Than continue to endure life with that God awful excuse for a woman. There's an old quote by William Makepeace; "Mother is the name for God on the lips and hearts of all Children."

Well not this child.

"Can I help you?"  
"Good question," he rumbles in that deep, gravelly tone of his. Looking the plump matron in the eye as she sat there behind a wire mesh and desk with Security on either side of her. He wonders briefly if she's ever even left that fucking chair or if her ass is now permanently sandwiched between the two plastic arms, but dismisses the thought quickly. His foul moods wouldn't get him very far in a place like this. Some part of him cautiously looks around and wonders if this is perhaps his own destiny. Did crazy run in the family? Was it a disease passed on through blood from Mother to child? If it was he was well and truly fucked. He was blessed with the dubious honour of having two equally screwed up parents, neither of which he really cared to ever see again. But he had to, for his own sanity and his own well being there were some things he needed to know. Needed to reconcile. For the past few years he'd been a zombie of a man, just passing through life and not really living. The only thing that kept him alive was wrestling, it was the only time he felt alive, like there was blood coursing through his veins. Not even the pleasure of a woman got his adrenaline pumping like kicking the all holy hell out of someone in the ring did. It was like a perfectly legal way of taking out his aggression and anger on another living being and while wrestling might be 'staged', something of a circus, when he lost himself in that character and that world it was as real as any bar brawl.

But he was growing tired of just existing, even wrestling had begun to lose it's shine. It was like piece by piece it was being taken from him anyway, he'd worked so hard and done so much, come so far. Taken advice, done everything people had told him to do and still he felt he was stuck in the same position he had been for years. A sheep trapped in a holding pen without a shepherd to give him direction. HWA had closed, WWE had rejected him repeatedly. He was rotting, dying on the inside. He'd never been all that alive to begin with. Something had to change, something had to give. After yet another knock back he finally walked out on her, walked out on wrestling. She wasn't as loyal as he'd always believed her to be. There had to be something else, something more. But as he'd gotten himself a regular job in a gym and begun the task of meaninglessly sleeping his way through the female clientèle, he'd begun to think if he didn't do something to change the way he was feeling about life, it wouldn't be long before he either joined his Mother in here, or ended up 6ft under or on the side of a road somewhere, wallowing in a ditch. He simply didn't care. He had to care, he had to make himself, he had to try.

"I'm here to see Susan Good." He tells the portly matron with a snap of his gum. The woman lifts an eyebrow and clicks her pen, leafing through some papers and then turning to her computer.  
"Are you family?"  
"Yes."  
The woman looks at him over the rim of her glasses. His eyes drift down to her enormous breasts and read the name tag nestled there upon her lapel. "Kim." She didn't look like a Kim. The name wasn't nearly fat enough. God he thought some horrible things about people sometimes. He scrunches his eyes shut for a second, pinching the bridge of his nose in the way he always did when trying to force something out of his brain he didn't want in there.  
"Care to elaborate?" Kim asks.  
"I'm her son."  
"Name?"  
"Jon Moxley."  
Kim glowers over her glasses again, it was so fucking patronizing he wanted to rip them off of her face and smash them, but the mesh put paid to that. That and the security guards. "According to our records she never married."  
"Jonathan Good, then, fuck." He grumbles.  
"Can I see some ID?"  
He huffs and pulls his wallet out of the back of his jeans pocket, flipping through it and passing it over to her through the small window cut in the mesh. She takes it and studies it then begins to punch some details in on the computer, glancing back up to him now and then as she enters things in. "You change your name or something?"  
"I'm a wrestler, everybody calls me that." He huffs, "so fuckin used to it by now it just stuck. I even sign my name like that sometimes, screwed up a hundred checks."

Kim looks completely unamused. Usually there's some kind of reaction to telling someone you're a pro wrestler. Then again it looked like the most exercise this woman ever got was reaching for the next taco so perhaps she'd never even heard of wrestling. Who cares.  
"You'll have to wait a while, go get a coffee or something. We'll call you through when she's ready."  
"Ready? Why?" He looks a bit bemused.  
"This isn't a tea party Mr Good, your Mother might not want to see you."  
He snorts, but holds his hands up. "Fine, whatever."  
"Waiting rooms down the hall." Kim points with her pen and he nods, heading in that direction.

He finds it easily enough and there's a pot of coffee sitting on a hot plate and some miserable looking magazines scattered on a coffee table. He pours a cup and adds a packet of sugar but leaves it black, moving to sit on one of the grimy plastic chairs. He hated waiting, he had the patience of a gnat. Stirring the coffee with the plastic spoon he watches the dark liquid swirl, his eyelids somewhat heavy. He was tired, he'd been working long hours and the hangovers didn't get any easier the older he got. Heh, stupid thought, he was barely in to his 20's and already he felt like an old man that had seen too much for one lifetime. He lifts the steaming cup to his lips and takes a sip. It burns and tastes a little like weak piss, but he'd drunk worse. The thing's you'll do to survive sometimes...

**1. STREET DOG**

"You sell each baggie, you get a cut of the profit, that's how it works."

Jon stares at the tied up plastic bag in his hand and feels a little like he might throw up. Talk about being out of your depth, but he was a fast learner and anything was better than going home. The thing was, Cincinnati was a cold fucking place when Winter came around and if he wanted to stand a hope in hell of going this alone he needed money. There's not many jobs for a 12 year old kid, not many that are legal anyway. He was smart for his age and he was a talker, he had the gift of the gab. He could talk his way in or out of almost anything and it had gotten him this far. Life at home had become unbearable, having to listen to pig after pig come in and fuck his Mom at all hours of the day and night. There was never any food, the place never had any heat, she constantly forgot to pay the bills because she was so out of her face on smack or whatever else she'd managed to inject in to her system. From a young age he'd been forced to fend for himself. They had a kindly neighbour that would give him bread and milk and cheese and that was practically what he'd lived on for a long time. Everybody knew what his Mom was, it's just they either didn't care, didn't want to get involved, or they enjoyed her trade too much to turn her in.

She ignored him for the most part, though every now and then she'd come out of her comas and yell at him or tell him what a useless little shit he was. The really golden moment was when she'd sat down and sincerely told him he wasn't wanted. The only reason he was here at all was because she hadn't had the money to pay for an abortion. That was a special day, it had been his 8th birthday. She'd given him a can of beer and told him to 'drink up Jonny boy!'.. and he had. His first real taste of alcohol. He'd spent an hour puking in the sink. It would take a while before his taste for the stuff would come back. At this point he knew little to nothing about his Father, though he would eventually come to find out he was a client and although he knew about his son, he wanted nothing to do with him. Susan was too smacked out of her face to chase him for child support either. 'Father' was an all but irrelevant issue.

A handful of weeks ago he'd returned from school (which he barely attended) to find his Mother with a needle stuck in her arm and a man on top of her. She wasn't awake, in fact he'd thought she was dead. He'd grabbed the closest thing to hand which had been a small portable radio balanced on a book shelf without any books, and he'd smashed the grunting man over the back of the head with it. Nobody told him how much head wounds bled, but the man had fallen away wailing and clutching at the back of his skull as blood began to trickle down his face and neck, Jon had been horrified and his Mother had come to, fixating on him. To hell with the fact this creep had been fucking her while she was passed out, she immediately began a tirade of abuse in Jon's direction. He'd just wanted to help, for some fucked up reason he'd wanted to save her because maybe if he saved her from getting attacked and all of their stuff getting stolen again, she might want to... oh, I don't know, give him a hug? Something.. anything. At that time, he'd have killed for a kind word from his Mother. But it wasn't to ever be.

She'd screamed in his face and hit him so hard around the head he saw stars and couldn't hear. He'd bolted upstairs, grabbed his tatty WWF rucksack and thrown in the meagre belongings he had, before fleeing out of the door. A lot of kids storm out on their parents and say they're never coming back. Jon meant it. He was never going back there, never seeing that woman again as long as he lived. He'd rather die and perhaps he would.

You met people quickly out on the streets and Jon had always been quick to pick things up. Who to avoid, who to hang around. Cincinnati was a city of lost souls it seemed, but then again maybe all you need to do is scratch the surface of any big city and you'll find a rotten underbelly easily enough. He'd made a little money selling weed from a guy he kinda knew because he was one of his Mom's regulars, but one of the nicer ones. Nicer in that he'd say hello and goodbye to Jon as he came in and out of the house. It was good to have someone slightly familiar though. But money from weed hadn't been enough and he'd asked around, eventually being led here, to this place. A slum of a house owned by a man with a gold tooth that wanted him to sell pills to people attending nightclubs. The idea was he took each little bag and sold them as is, returned the money here and he'd get a cut. He only got to know the supplier by the name of 'Red'. He was pretty certain that was not his real name.

"You got it, kid?"  
"Uh huh." He nods quickly, this was the last kind of person you wanted to let down or show any sign of weakness to.  
Red shuffles a line of coke on a mirror with a razor blade and looks him up and down. "You hungry?"  
Jon considers this for a moment, a dangerous balance here. He was starving, truth be told. But did you take something from a man like this? You started owing these people, you got into their pockets, you'd never get out again. But then again he was already sinking in to it by agreeing to sell his drugs. So to hell with it, he gives a little nod.  
"ARLENE?!"  
"Yes baby?" The woman practically comes from nowhere, miniskirt, a ton of jewellery, long pink fingernails and a blonde wig.. well nobody really had hair that white.  
"Get the kid some food. He looks half starved to death."  
"Yes baby."  
Were those the only words she knew? Red kicks out a stool and tells Jon to sit. He does so hesitantly and watches as Red does the line. Sure enough Arlene emerges with a sandwich, chips and soda a little while later. It was akin to eating like a king. He has to stop himself, slow it down and breathe. He hadn't really realized how hungry he was, you kinda forget sometimes. Red chuckles, making small talk until Jon's finished. Arlene appears again as if on cue, taking the plate and the empty can and with that Jon's back on his feet. Time to get to work.

"Be back here by 3am, you hear me?"  
"Yes sir." Jon nods. Hurrying out of the building and back out onto the freezing cold streets. He had a list of clubs and directions to them, of course he couldn't get 'in' to them as he wasn't nearly old enough. But he'd stand near by out of sight of any door men and approach people that looked like they were headed to a party. At least that was the plan. He picks the club that's closest and hopes it'll be a good night, the quicker he got rid of these bags the better. He could return the money and then go find some place to sleep for a few hours.

Unfortunately, the first clubs a bust. He sells only two bags and time's ticking away. He makes the decision to walk across town as quickly as he can, it might be a long way but it was the biggest club around and had to be more successful. With all of his hopes pinned on this, he makes the journey swiftly.

"Hey kid?!"

He stops in his tracks, pausing and looking over his shoulder at the group of older looking boys lingering by a liquor store. "Yeah?" He responds hesitantly. One of them flicks a cigarette away and gestures to his friends, the four of them moving over to him. He clutches the bag in his pocket.  
"How old are you?"  
"15." He lies.  
One of the boys smirks. "Right, what are you doing out so late?"  
"I..." he clams up and just shrugs. For having the gift of the gab, that one stumped him.  
"You heading to the club?"  
".. yeah."  
"You selling?"  
"What do you need?"  
"You selling for Red?"  
He had a bad feeling about this.  
"Come on dis ain't that hard of a question, you selling for Red or aren't you?"  
"How do you know?" Stupid answer.  
"Cause we followed you."  
"That motherfucker owes money."  
"That's nothing to do with me."  
"What you got on you?"  
"Nothing."  
"You said you woz selling."  
"I..."

It's a strange feeling, when control is taken out of your hands. When someone bigger and stronger comes along and strips you of that. It wasn't Jon's first taste of violence or even his first taste of beating. As they tear his coat from him and pulls the bag out of his pocket, his life all but flashes before his eyes. If they took that he was as good as dead. He discovers in that moment just what a fighter he really is, the 12 year old throwing punches at four 18 year olds. Bite, claw, scratch, kick, scream, whatever he had to. Just stay alive! There's blood in his mouth and it isn't his own, it's from the arm of one of the boys.

"He's a fuckin psycho" He hears one of them yell.  
"Put him down innit!"  
What's that mean?

Then he feels it, an arm wrapped around his throat and the stabbing sensation through his back. He goes to gasp and suddenly no air will go in his lungs, a shooting pain consuming him. His hands curl in to fists and he feels whatever the object was retreat through flesh and skin.

"You stick him?!"  
He cant breathe, no air. Just pain. He collapses to his hands and knees. This time the blood in his mouth is his, bubbling up from his lung although he doesn't know that.  
"Stupid little shit."  
"Fuck him. Lets get outta here bro." He looks up to see the flash of an object in the speakers hand, a screwdriver. He chokes, spluttering, fighting to breathe. Running footsteps, and he's alone. Spitting up blood onto the tarmac, shaking all over. They'd stabbed him... they'd fucking stabbed him.

So this is how it's all going to end. Stabbed with a screwdriver at midnight on some dirty street, near the trash cans and the rats. Well they'd always said he was garbage, a fitting end.. I suppose.

**Tbc...**


	2. The Devil Inside

_Authors Note: Turning up the intensity and we're only 2 chapters in. The 'flashbacks' aren't in chronological order so we're stepping forward in time with this one. It will all serve a purpose. Once again, strong stomachs necessary, try not to hate him.. too much. _

* * *

"Mr Good?"  
The voice snaps him out of his reverie and he looks up from his half drunk coffee to find a pretty blonde with her head stuck around the door into the waiting room, she wore the same nurses outfit as Kim the portly matron only she wore it fifty times better. A slim little thing that looked far too young and naïve to be working in a place like this. He shakes off the memories and casts her a somewhat unsure smile. "Yeah?"  
"I'm afraid it's going to be a little while longer, your Mother was in treatment when you arrived and when we told her you were here to see her..." She trails off, biting on her lip for a moment. He lifts an eyebrow. "She had to be sedated."  
He lifts the coffee to his lips to hide the smirk, "really? Guess she doesn't really want to see me then?"  
"Oh she does! She does want to see you, she was so excited by the prospect in fact that that's why we had to calm her down. If you can give us thirty minutes to get her back to her room..."  
"Sure." he nods, a little confused by her words. The nurse nods in return and takes her leave, closing the door behind her and leaving him with an ocean of questions swirling through his head.

Why the hell would she be excited to see him? The last time they'd parted ways it hadn't been on the best of terms and that was putting it lightly. Scowling he looks back down in to his coffee, echoes of the memories he'd been revisiting just moments ago still swimming around in the dark brown liquid. That night out on the streets facing death at the meagre age of 12, it was the same night he'd discovered he literally could and would do anything to survive. The night he found out it didn't matter how many times you kicked Jonathan Good, he would just keep getting back up and keep coming. It was a fact that served him well in the ring and in many other aspects of his life. His ass could be hanging on by a thread, but he'd still get up again, he'd still get in your face. There was nothing on this planet that could put him down besides himself and that was the problem, at this point, he was becoming far too willing to let that happen.

That night on the street he'd laid for a while in a pool of his own blood before finally coming to the realizations that firstly, nobody was coming to help him. There was nobody around. Secondly, he didn't want to die there, it was not how he wanted things to end. He didn't want to be a statistic and most of all he didn't want his Mother to be right. He would survive. Somehow, some surge of adrenaline from the depths of him had propelled him forward, he'd managed to pull himself to his feet using trash cans and whatever else he could get his hands on. Then, barely able to breathe, blood dripping from his mouth and soaking his shirt and his back, he'd staggered. Stopping for breath every few feet, but somehow making it to the hospital which miraculously and thankfully wasn't too far away. As he'd made it in to the parking lot he'd been spotted by orderlies and within a handful of moments he'd been strapped to a gurney and rushed in to the gleaming white halls, getting his first taste of the stench of bleach and disinfectant that went with hospitals. A smell that would never leave him and that to this day haunted him. He hated it. Much of the rest of that night was a blur in his memory, they'd had to re-inflate a collapsed lung and stitch him back up again, he'd spent a good few days in hospital and he'd refused to tell them where he came from or who his parents were, wouldn't even give them a name. He'd been completely unaware of what consequences would await his actions, as smart as he was he was also oblivious to the ins and outs of the adult and legal worlds.

Social Services had been called, a whole other brand of hell. Talk of Foster care springing up, trying to track down his Mother. Eventually he'd been so afraid of the idea of being sent to live in foster care again after the few stints he'd done as a younger child, he'd told them his name and where to find his Mom. It hadn't gone well.

He sighs, shaking off the memories and getting to his feet. If he had so much time to wait he might as well head out for a smoke. Leaving the waiting area he heads back through to the lobby and finds Kim still behind her desk, telling her he was going out for a cigarette she simply glowers at him over the rim of her thick glasses and he takes that as an acknowledgement, pushing open the heavy front door and trudging down the stone steps to the parking lot out front. He finds a convenient wall and slumps down on it, tugging his coat tighter around him. It might be Spring but it was still cold as fuck. He puts a cigarette in his mouth with one hand and flicks the lighter with the other, inhaling deeply and closing his eyes, he tilts his head back and cracks his neck from side to side a little, groaning.

"Long day?"  
His eyes flick open and he lowers his head, finding an attractive looking girl standing in front of him wearing a business suit. She had dark, almost black hair and it was tied up into a tight knot behind her head. Minimalist make up on her porcelain doll face. She reminded him of someone almost instantly.  
"I think it's about to be." He mutters around his cigarette. She produces one of her own from her purse and puts it to her mouth, gesturing toward him.  
"You got a light?"  
He nods, wordlessly plucking the lighter from his coat pocket and handing it over. She takes it, sparking up and doing practically the same thing as he had, closing her eyes and inhaling that sweet nicotine. Nothing like the rush after you've gone a long time without.  
"Thanks, wasn't expecting the chance to get a break today so I didn't bring one." She says as she hands it back. He takes it and narrows his eyes a little, stuffing it back in his pocket.  
"What kinda smoker doesn't bring a light?"  
"One that's trying to quit."  
"Ahh, you work here?"  
"No, thank God. I'd probably kill myself." She glowers at the building like she hated it. "Social worker."  
"Ohh." He cringes on the inside, "back when I was a kid Social Workers weren't so..."  
"Young?"  
"Hot."  
She blushes, biting on her lip. He had that effect on women, though God knows why. He was an unkempt, scruffy son of a bitch at the best of times and had very recently decided to sheer off his long hair. At least when it was long he'd usually kept it tied back and hence he looked slightly presentable. Nowadays it hung in a scraggy un-combed mess around his eyes and face. But people always said he had a gift with the ladies, he was just being himself. But whatever worked. Maybe women really did like brutal honesty. He was nothing if not honest.  
"Had a lot of experience with Social Workers have you?"  
"Some." He nods, dragging on his cigarette. "Hid the bodies pretty well though."  
"Ohhhh.." she feigns looking worried, it makes him smirk. "Dangerous type huh? What is it with me and the men Mom told me to stay away from?"  
"I don't know but I don't think your Mom's ever met me so how can she tell you to stay away?"  
"You're smooth, Mister..." she gestures.  
"Moxley," he answers.  
"Mister Moxley?"  
He nods.  
"Sounds like a Dog food."  
"Nice!" he chuckles around the butt of his smoke. "You always that brutally blunt?"  
"Hazard of the job." She flicks her ash into the breeze. "You got a first name?"  
"Jon.. And you are?"  
"Heather."

He falters. His smile fading, something that she notices, a little frown creasing her brow.  
"Did I say something wrong?"  
"No I... I just, used to date a Heather."  
"That's a lame line."  
"No I'm serious.. bout this time last year actually, it uh, it didn't end well."  
"I'm sorry, was it serious?" She asks curiously.  
"Oh.. it was serious." He responds with lifted eyebrows, burning away the last of his cigarette. "It was serious alright."

Just not in the way she's thinking.

**2. THE DEVIL INSIDE**

He grasps the back of her neck and pins her down roughly, her hands curl in the pillow and she twists her head to gasp for air, her entire body shaken by the force of his hips as he thrusts powerfully into her. Seconds later, his hand wraps into her ponytail and twists the silky hair around his fist, dragging her upward again. Pulling her back to his chest. She reaches her hands out and braces them against the wall as he bites at her neck. She makes sounds like a tortured animal, you couldn't really tell if it was pain or pleasure, though it was probably both. He's unmerciful, their sex was always rough, she always bore the marks of it somewhere on her body. Whenever he showed up anyway, and it was always the same, she was always powerless against him. No matter how times she swore to herself she wouldn't let it happen, she wouldn't be his toy, she wouldn't let him talk her back into bed. She always caved in the end. An hour or two, that seductive smirk, plied with alcohol and drugs. She was always his.. and he knew it.

After a dull night, no luck at a bar, or just plain couldn't be bothered with going out on the hunt. He'd turn up on her doorstep with a bottle in hand, and work his way into her panties in no time at all. This was the repetitive nature of his life since returning from Puerto Rico. He was beginning to tire of it. That place had done nothing but heighten his want and need for the extremes in life, the drugs and alcohol and sex were just so easy to get a hold of. It was sold on every street corner, available in fucking coffee shops. A handful pills, a line of coke and a blow job? Sure, and how would you like your coffee? But back in the USA things were so much harder to come by. Everything was becoming a tiring struggle. On the verge of quitting wrestling for good, HWA wasn't what it used to be and he'd climbed that mountain already, what was left to achieve? Wrestling was losing it's magic. But without it, he wasn't sure what he was in this world. What other profession is there for a violent alcoholic with a sadistic streak a mile wide? Librarian? Office clerk? Fuck that. If he wasn't meant for a wrestling ring, maybe he was just meant for jail. Seemed to be where most of his kind ended up.. jail or dead. One things for sure, he was certain he wasn't making it out of his 20's.

2007 so far was a bad year for Jon Moxley. But then again, not a single year of his miserable fucking life had been especially wonderful.

Her name was Heather. Dark hair, big fake tits, lots of puppy fat round the hips. Ex stripper, single Mom. She was just the kind of dirty gutterslut he found appealing. She'd started out as your typical ring rat, hanging round, fucking the guys, working her way 'in'.. but then someone had thought it would be a good idea to actually turn her into a manager of sorts. It hadn't really worked, he wasn't the type to be taking notes from a female and the idea had been nixed almost as swiftly as it had with that crazy bitch Helena. But he **had** started fucking her... y'know, just to give her something to do. Turned out she was every bit as dirty and trampy as she made out to be. Fine by him, meant there didn't have to be any airs and graces put on. All he had to do was show up. Of course, he'd left her hanging when he'd vanished to wrestle in Puerto Rico without telling her. So when he'd come back she'd been more than a little pissed off and had sworn to him she wouldn't have sex with him ever again.. shortly before he put his dick in her mouth. She was a woman of little to no resolve and that also suited him just fine. Of course, she was also 'A Woman' which brought with it it's own problems, as usual. Just like the rest of them, because he'd fucked her more than once she seemed to think that gave her some kind of entitlement over him, this led to mildly crazy outbursts from time to time. Sudden phone calls in which he'd get yelled at. Showing up at bars he was at and throwing stuff at him. That kind of behaviour, your average schizo female bullshit.

So from time to time, since returning to Ohio, he had to remind her who was in charge here. Put her in her place, so to speak. This had been one of those nights. He'd turned up - drunk of course - they'd had a fight. He'd smacked her around a bit, she'd begged his forgiveness, admitted it was all her fault and now he was hate fucking her for good measure. She had to know. Had to accept she wasn't and never would be the apple of his eye, he wasn't capable of love, or any other normal human emotion. If she wanted to be able to say she was banging the biggest star in HWA, she had to accept these terms. Or he'd just go elsewhere, simple as that.

A kind of guttural half groan, half yell of a sound escapes her as he taunts her in a whisper beside her ear. Calling her the kind of filth that would have most women turning around and slapping his teeth out. She gets off on it, which only leads to him calling her more names. Taking her even harder, that pressure building. So close... so very... close...

"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMYYYYYY YYYYYYYYYYYY"

And.. stop. That horrible, dull aching pause as they wait to see if its a one off. But no such luck. Her five year old son screams again.

"I'm almost.."  
"Get off me!" She snaps.  
"Seriously?"  
The kid screams again and she's pushing him away, clambering off the bed and grabbing her robe off the back of the door as he slumps back against the wall, dragging a sheet up over himself and rolling his eyes. "Fucking kid needs medicating." He mutters.  
"Not his fault he has night terrors, you knew what you were signing up for with me." She tells him gruffly.  
"I didn't sign up for shit." He grunts around a cigarette, plucking a lighter off the bedside table. The kid screams again and she ties the robe, looking at him and shaking her head as he lights his smoke and raises his eyebrows at her. She makes a disgusted noise at the back of her throat and yanks open the door, stomping off down the hall. He sighs deeply, resting his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. Being stopped that close to climax is hell on a guy, but with any luck she could get the kid sorted out and they'd be able to finish. That or he could just jerk it. At this thought he opens his eyes again and lifts the sheet from his groin, peering down at his pride and joy (isn't it every mans?). But just as he's contemplating his next move..  
"JON!"  
He scowls, glancing toward the door. "WHAT?!"  
"Can you help me?"  
He looks utterly bemused, mouthing 'what the fuck?' to himself and flicking ash into an overflowing ashtray. "With what?"  
"I need you to run a bath." She calls back.  
Now he's really perplexed. "I don't think you want me walkin' round the house right now, not with a massive fuckin' hard on."  
"Don't be a dick! I really need you!"  
"What the fucks happened?"  
"Tommys sick."  
He pulls a face. A kid was one thing. A sick kid? He **definitely** wasnt signed up for that shit. "Sick how?"

He pushes himself out of bed as he asks it. The mere thought sending his 'happy' into regression anyway. He searches for his jeans and boxers, finding them and tugging them on. Wincing a little as he does up the fly. Things still not quite calmed down. He stubs out the cigarette and heads out into the hall, the house was freezing cause she couldn't really afford to heat it properly. She.. like him.. lived in the bad part of Cincinnati. The poor as fuck, can barely afford rent part. The house was two bedroom and might at one time have been really nice, but now it was all peeling wallpaper, rising damp and nicotine stained everything. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and shivers a little as he creeps down the corridor, peering into the kids bedroom. He barely knew the boy, usually came over too late to see him, was normally in bed. So his interactions were minimal. What he sees makes his stomach turn. She'd already stripped the entire bed down and the boy was leaning over a trash can crying, puke everywhere.

"Jesus.. he eat something or what?" he asks cautiously, pulling a face as he peers around the room.  
"I don't know, might be a bug from school."  
He pulls an even worse face.  
"Can you run a bath, please?"  
He backs up a little. "I dunno, think I'm just gonna take off."  
She looks at him wide eyed. "Jon! Please?! I need help."  
"This is waaaay too much reality for me. I just came to get laid." He holds his hands up as though admitting no responsibility whatsoever, and why would he? Wasn't his kid. He barely even liked the kids Mother.  
Heather scowls at him. "Fine, fucking go then. Asshole."  
She didn't have to tell him twice. With that said, he simply turns and leaves. Heading back to the bedroom and grabbing his T Shirt and hoodie, cigarettes from the night stand. As he leaves he finds her standing in the hallway on her way to the bathroom. She glares at him again.  
"I can't believe you, you're such a piece of shit."  
"Tell me something I don't know, sweetcheeks. I'll seeya later."  
"Ha! I don't think so. This is IT Jon. You walk out that door we're done."  
Ultimatums. Amusing. He simply shrugs, lighting another cigarette. "Alright, if that's what you want. Good luck with the kid."

With that, he stomps off down the stairs with her yelling obscenity after him. He grasps his coat from the hook near the door and is gone, slamming it behind him and stepping out on to the cold streets. Pulling the coat on, he starts the long walk home. Home for now being the couch he crashed on at a friends place a few miles away. He'd never actually had an actual home, not a proper definition of one anyway. From homeless to nomadic, pretty much his life. Since wrestling, he now lived from couch to couch. Wherever friends would let him stay. Or occasionally in cars, if he had one which he didn't right now.

Cincinnati in the winter isn't the most fun of places to be. He dodges patches of black ice as he walks, unable to tell where cigarette smoke ended and simple breath began. He pulls the hood up over his head and shrouds his face, reaching a park he had to cut through. He used to walk so quickly through it, when he was a teenager, where all the junkies hung out just looking for someone to jump for cash for their next fix. He wasn't afraid of that anymore, in fact some sick twisted part of him always hoped it would happen, now he was older and ten times more sadistic than they could ever hope to be. He welcomed the fight. But sadly, now, it never came. By the time he reaches the street his mother used to work on sometimes, it's snowing and he's down to his last few cigarettes. Luckily on the street before home, there's a 24 hour liquor store that he stops by to pick up supplies, before finally getting through the door of the one bedroom apartment he was crashing at. His friend already in bed, he flops onto the couch and switches on the TV quietly, getting started on the bottle of cheap whiskey.

He could call her...

He passes out before the thought gets any purchase.

**- 3 days later -**

She hadn't turned up to the show. She was making a point. That kinda pissed him off, she didn't get to make points. He made points, he made the rules, and she obeyed them and that was how it was. Her not turning up to the show and not answering calls was unacceptable, it made him look stupid when the other guys asked where she was. They'd also had some rather bad news, after all these years, HWA was possibly going to have to close in the next few months, money was running tight and the interest just didn't seem to be there anymore from the public. He was in the mood from hell. As far as he was concerned, right now, wrestling could go fuck itself. If HWA closed and WWE continued to be disinterested in him the he'd find something else to do. What? he had no idea. But wrestling could kiss his ass, it was nothing but one giant disappointment after another. It's beautiful promise had been nothing but another complete lie. He'd done everything right, he'd played the game, he'd worked his ass off, put everything on the line.. and for what?

Just another thing in his life to betray him.

"You coming to the bar Jon?" Pepper Parks appears in front of him as he's packing up his shit. Pepper was one of the men in this world Jon classed as a friend and one of the men that had helped him learn the ropes. But even he wasn't quite aware of the depths Jon Moxley plunged from time to time.  
He shoulders his bag and shakes his head, lighting a cigarette. "Gonna go find Heather, see where her stupid ass got to tonight."  
"Maybe something with her kid?"  
He shrugs, he really didn't care. She'd made him look stupid, when he found her it wasn't going to be pretty. So with his goodbyes said to the boys, he steps out and begins the walk to the bus back to Cincinnati. He stews on the entire journey, staring out of the window with a scowl on his face watching the streets go by. He was angry about so many things, by definition he made a career out of being a ball of unbridled rage, but now he had two more things to focus his rage upon and being as wrestling wasn't an actual entity you could punch in the face, it all came down to her. By the time he's arrived at the gate to her house he has an expression on his face that could kill at ten paces. He hammers on the door.

"HEATHER?!"

What time was it anyway? He glances at his watch. Nearly 11pm. She'd be up. He hammers again and sure enough hears footsteps. He backs off a step or two, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat and glaring out from under his hood as locks are freed up and suddenly the door swings open, revealing Heather and her mess of black hair looking back at him with an angered scowl on her face.  
"What?!"  
"Why werent you at the show?" He rumbles. Not moving. A stony gargoyle on her front doorstep.  
"I was sick, Tommy got sick the other night and then so did I. What do you care you walked out on us remember?" She snaps back at him, clearly unimpressed with his tone.  
"You don't just not show up, you have a job to do at that place. A commitment. You made me look fucking stupid."  
Her eyebrows lift. "Oh really? Kinda sucks when you're counting on someone and they leave you high and dry huh."  
That does it. Rage overspills and in a flash his hands wrapped around her throat, driving her back into the house, slamming her down onto the stairs. His bag tossed aside. "Don't EVER fuck with me!" He yells in her face as it starts to go red, gasping for air, his hand crushing her windpipe. She begins to struggle. "You don't make the fucking rules here. You do what I say when I fucking say it, how much clearer do I have to make myself?"  
With that he pulls back, kicking the front door shut as she falls to her hands and knees gasping and clutching her throat. He rounds on her, his fists clenched. "You wanna be fucking the biggest star in Ohio wrestling?"  
"Jon please.. don't.." She looks up at him tearfully and he snarls, reaching down and grabbing her by the hair, yanking her to her feet.  
"I can't make myself any more fucking clear, can I?"  
"I told you we're through!"  
"We're through when I say we're through. I'm not done with you, though after tonight.. I will be." He laughs in her face, a twisted, half crazed sounding thing as he twists her hair, making her bend backward. Her defiance dissolving into a pained wail. More pleas for him not to do anything. "After tonight, I'm done with all of it. But you? You..."

He leers next to her face, before drawing his hand back and backhanding her around the cheek, sending her sprawling to the floor. All he sees is everything and everybody that ever wronged him. The women, the friends, the companies, everybody that ever stuck the knife in and twisted.. all concentrated in her. The latest to let him down, to laugh at him, to spit in his face. The rage is uncontrolled, his entire body shaking with it, the adrenaline coursing through his veins making him a volatile monster truly capable of anything. She better hope she has an angel watching out for her tonight, because he's out for blood. It's all he sees.

Grabbing her again, he strikes her a second time, leaning over her much smaller form and beginning to take out that rage on her whimpering, pleading face. When she's given up struggling, he kneels over her, one leg on each side. Swiping his hand over his face, he reaches for his belt and undoes it. Shoving her skirt up.  
"Please.. don't.."  
"Shut up, you fucking whore." He grabs a handful of her panties, intent on tearing them from her body. This would go beyond a hate fuck, this one she truly didn't want.. and he truly didn't care.  
"Please.. he's.."  
"Don't hurt my Mom!"

He freezes. The small boys words cutting through the rage, his gaze darts up to the doorway into the living room. The 5 year old standing there in his Transformers pajamas, a horrified, pale expression on his face. Heather instantly starts crying.  
"Go back in the room baby! It's okay!" Heather cries to her son.  
The words send a chill through his body. It creeps up his spine, a cold sort of sickness neutralizing the surging rage and adrenaline. Replacing the anger with pain. He'd heard those words before. From his own Mother. "Go back to your room, baby, it's okay". He'd gone back and hidden under the bed sheets when he was 4 or 5 years old, in the hopes they might save him from having to hear his Mother get beaten up, raped, or worse. So many times.

Go back to your room, baby. It's okay.

It was never okay.

"Go! Tommy! It's okay we're just playing!" With that, the little boy hurries back in to the living room as fast as his little legs can carry him. Jon slumps back, off of her. Sitting on the cold tile floor he leans back against the switched off radiator, his body still trembling but now for a different reason. Those words. The look in the little boys eyes. Heather begins to pick herself up, slowly, her body hurting. He watches her, a sideways glance. She pushes her skirt down, wipes blood from under her nose.

"I didn't know he was up." He murmurs eventually. "He's usually in bed."  
She pulls herself to her feet, unsteady for a moment. She looks down at him. "Get out."  
"Heather.. I.."  
"Get... OUT."  
He bows his head for a moment, running his hands through his hair, gripping handfuls of it for just a second before pushing himself to his feet and grabbing his bag. He looks back at her. "You need anything? Can I.." He says it while doing up his belt. She simply looks at him coldly.  
"Never come back. Ever." He stares back at her as she says it. "Do you realize what you just did to my son? Do you?!"  
Unfortunately, he did. But doesn't say as much. Holding up his hands he concedes, heading for the door.  
"We're DONE, over.. I never wanna see you again Jon!"

He's down the path and through the gate by the time his name leaves her mouth. And seconds later, he hears her front door slam. He tugs cigarettes from his pocket and lights one with a shaking hand. What was he becoming? Was he becoming the one thing he swore he never would? So very close to it. So painfully close.

The look in that little boys eyes.

He breaks in to a run. Maybe he could out run it. Out run it all... he was always running. But is it possible to run from the demons inside?

**tbc...**


	3. The Way We Weren't

_Authors Note: Part 3 and the truth behind the promo. Who was 'the beautiful girl, smart as a whip' really?, what did she mean to him? Hard chapter to write, this one as it could have ended up a thousand pages long but I didn't want to ramble. Things are starting to link. The pattern coming together. It's all leading somewhere... but there's still miles to go._

* * *

"Penny for 'em?" Her voice cuts through his memories and brings him back to the present, a cold shiver running up and down his spine as he remembers the events of that night. The way he'd behaved, the things he'd done and come so close to doing. He'd sworn he'd never be that man for as long as he could remember, never be the guy that beat a woman or forced her in to something. He'd been a manipulative game playing asshole for sure, but he'd never gone so far as to force himself on anybody, not until that night. He'd come so close and to this day he didn't really understand why. What was in his head, what triggered that series of events.

Anger, sadness, frustration at the world. All things he suffered on a daily basis but never had it led him to that. It had put a fear in to him he'd never felt before as he'd bolted from Heather's home, running the entire way back to that apartment he shared with his friend. He'd been so out of breath by the time he'd gotten there he'd felt like his lungs were bleeding but he still had the Devil on his tail. That was how it felt, like there was a curse on him, like he was a walking disease, something passed down to him by blood. He wonders about his Father, what kind of man he was. What else had been given to him via genetics. Or maybe he was just plain crazy. Whatever the cause, that night had stuck with him for a long time and he hadn't dated since, hadn't allowed himself to get close to any woman aside from a single night. He never knew their names, he didn't even let them stay. Just satisfied the urge then either got gone or kicked them out. They almost always called him an asshole for throwing their clothes at them and telling them he was done with them they could leave now. But they didn't understand it was better that way. Better for them, better not to get mixed up with the mess that was Jon Moxley.

The monster had to stay in the wrestling ring, it couldn't spill out to the outside world.

"You wouldn't wanna hear it." He mumbles back, flicking the butt of the cigarette it lands a few feet away and sparks as it hits the concrete. He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks back to Heather, still working on hers.  
"Well now that sounds like a story." She smirks a little, tapping the heel of her shoe.  
"Like I said, not one you wanna hear."  
"You'd be surprised."  
"Heh, another woman looking for a project." He mumbles, dragging his hand through his shaggy mess of hair, he shakes his head a little.  
"Who said anything about a project? I'm sorry, I guess it's just kinda in my nature to ask people about their problems, another hazard of the job." She rolls her eyes and flicks her cigarette away too, another shower of sparks landing a few feet from them. "Speaking of which I guess I better get to it."  
"You got a case in there?" He asks absently.  
"Several, one particularly miserable one today though."  
"Oh yeah?"  
"Little girl, big problems."  
He bows his head, nodding slightly. "Known a couple of those."  
"Sounds like another story, Mister Moxley."

He sighs, looking back up to her and narrowing his eyes, biting on the inside of his cheek as he tries to figure this broad out. She seemed awfully interested in a guy she just met, he couldn't figure out what her intentions were, what she was trying to get at. She lingers though, just looking at him, holding his gaze. He notices she has green eyes with flecks of brown in them. Her lips full and slicked with a matt reddish lipstick. Rosy cheeks on porcelain skin and that dark hair that had to be quite long, twisted up into a knot behind her head. She was slim but curvy, the fitted suit jacket and skirt hugging her in all the right places. He can't help but imagine just for a moment tearing it all from her and doing unspeakable things, but he snaps out of that fairly quickly. "I got lots of em." He finally answers, continuing to be vague.  
She bites her lip and leans a little closer, narrowing her eyes in return. "You're not a patient here, are you?"  
He snorts, shaking his head, "But I probably should be."  
"There's plenty of time." She draws back. "Buy me a drink."  
"We're not in a bar."  
Standoff. He feels the tiny hairs on his skin prickle.  
"Observant too. I meant later, smarty pants."  
"I don't do the kinda bars people like you go in to." He smirks.  
"People like me? You think because I wear a smart suit during the daytime I'm not Catwoman by night?"  
"You're a thief?"  
"Maybe."  
"Give me your number, then."

She moves closer again and tucks her hand in to the pocket of his leather coat. He lifts his eyebrows and watches her face as she finds nothing in that one and tries the other, finally finding his phone. She pulls it out and hits the unlock button, fiddling around with a few buttons and then finally handing it back to him. He takes it and looks at the screen, frowning.  
"I thought you said your name was Heather.."  
"I lied." She smiles, "you never know what weirdos you're going to meet outside a mental asylum."  
He snickers. "So, what makes you think I'm not a weirdo, Claire?"  
"Sometimes I just like to live on the edge." She purrs, moving past him and to the concrete steps leading in to the building. "Call me."  
"I will."  
She flashes him a smile and with that heads on up and through the main doors. He watches her go, his sights set on her ass until the door slams shut behind her and she's swallowed up by the huge building. He looks back to the phone in his hand, the number and the name; "Claire". It wasn't very often he couldn't figure a woman out, nine times out of ten they were carbon copies of the next girl. The same game playing transparent bundles of neediness. That's not to say that this one was any different, but she'd certainly kept him on his toes during their exchange.

Little girl, big problems.

Her words echo in his ears as he hunches his shoulders a little against the cold, plucking out another cigarette and lighting it. He'd certainly known a few of those. But one in particular hit him right where it hurt, every time he thought of her. He'd been called a failure a lot of times in his life for one reason or another, she was one of the times he wholeheartedly agreed with.

**3. THE WAY WE WEREN'T**

It was fucking cold. He pulls his coat tighter around him and tries to cover his numb nose, his feet were like blocks of ice because the sneakers he had on had long since become full of holes and didn't protect a damn thing in a foot of snow. Crunch, crunch, crunch. It was eerily quiet but then this part of town always was at nights when snow covered the ground, a hive for the homeless and abandoned, everybody was too busy bunkered down in whatever hole they could slip themselves in to to bother with being out on the street trying to beg for cash or heat themselves around a trash can. He couldn't go on like this and he knew it, merely streets away there was a house and a bed and the potential for warmth, it was sheer stubbornness that kept him out here. If there was one thing he was, it was stubborn. But he couldn't go back, he couldn't be around that hell whore he called Mother and he couldn't be picked up by Social Services again, he'd had a hard enough time getting away from them after the stabbing incident, he wasn't going there again. Technically he was already on the run, having bolted from foster care and hidden himself away ever since, not that anybody was really looking. Too many lost souls and not enough people giving a shit.

He was just another runaway, nobody gives a crap about them.

He reaches the abandoned building and pulls back the scrap of hanging sheet metal enough to slip through the gap in the wall. Street kids were crafty, they always found a way in. Once out of the snow he blows on his red numb hands and creeps through the building, heading up a metal flight of steps. It was an abandoned warehouse of sorts though not especially large. There were broken windows and dusty floors but it was shelter, it was better than out there.

"Who's there?"  
"It's me." He calls back to her, soothing her frayed nerve. He was fifteen years old and she was thirteen. Her name was Samantha though he called her Sam and to all intents and purposes, she was his first love. Though it wasn't sexual, the feelings didn't seem to equate to that somehow. He didn't know what he felt for her really, what the definition of it would be. He just knew she needed him and he protected her, he kept her safe. At least he tried to. She was the only bit of positive light he had in his whole life and he had a plan, he'd work and he'd take care of her and she'd get better and some day they'd have a place together and they'd grow old. It wasn't much of a plan, he didn't know how he would do it. He just knew he had to, he'd find a way. There had to be something in this God forsaken world he was good at, something he could do that would provide for them both and give them a decent life. It was a lot of weight to sit on a fifteen year olds shoulders, but he'd be sixteen next month, maybe he could get some kind of job somewhere. Something that wasn't selling drugs like he had been tonight.

"Here," He crouches down in front of her. She was laying on her side on a busted up couch in what had once been an office as far as he could tell. She was shivering and covered with a blanket he'd managed to steal from the washing line of a house a few blocks away. She was so cold.. and so sick. He didn't know how to help her. "I managed to get you some medicine," he says quietly, pulling the packet of painkillers out of his pocket. The box said good for colds and flu and that had to be what she had, it was so fucking cold. He helps her sit up and opens the paper bag he'd been clutching in his other hand, pulling out some candy bars and bottles of water, you had to drink water when you were sick. He twists off the cap and helps her put some of the tablets in her hand. She knocks them back and swigs them down with some sips from the bottle, then groans a little, wrapping the blanket tighter around herself.

"Thanks," she murmurs, her chapped lips looked sore and dry. Her eyes red rimmed. Her skin pale and clammy.  
"You feel any better?"  
"Not really, so cold."  
He bites his lip and gets to his feet, shrugging off his coat and tugging the blanket away from her, he drapes the coat around her shoulders then wraps her back up in the blanket.  
"But you'll freeze!" She objects as loudly as her sore throat will let her.  
"I'll be alright." He sits cross legged in front of her again, she settles herself back down on the couch, shivering and curling herself up in to a ball. He reaches a hand out, stroking some strands of her dark hair back from her face, her skin was burning. No question she had a fever. Some logic at the back of his mind tells him she needed a hospital, this was more than just a cold. More than just a little sniffle she'd get over in a few days. She'd been getting sicker for a while now and it wasn't going away no matter what he tried. With limited resources that wasn't much, but he was doing his best.

He needed her. He couldn't take her to hospital, they'd take her away. She didn't want that either, she didn't want to go in to care and she sure as shit didn't want to go home. They were cut from the same cloth, they could be the same person if they weren't different genders. He'd found her seven months ago alone and afraid, another runaway, she couldn't go back. She'd shown him the scars, the trails of cigarette burns along her back and arms from where her own father tortured her for his personal amusement. One night, instead of raping her himself, he'd invited his friends to have a go. It had been the last straw and she'd fled for her life. There's all kinds of reasons kids end up homeless, for girls unfortunately that seemed to be at the top of the list. It broke his heart. They'd met and been inseparable ever since. When you wiped away the tears and the pain, underneath there was a smart, funny girl that brought so much positivity with her. She was well educated and had never missed a day of school until she ran away. She'd taught him so much, they were both old beyond their years but she had a wisdom and a kind of knowing about the world that he couldn't hope to touch. She shared his dream, that they'd figure this mess out and go on to live long and happy lives together. Kids always have pipe dreams, don't they.

He sits by her side as she wheezes and tries to get to sleep. He was shivering himself, but he'd rather she had the coat and the blanket. Leaning against the couch he strokes his hand through her hair gently in the hopes it'll help her drift off and eventually it seems to work, leaving him sitting there listening to her labored breathing and occasional whimpers. The fever was wreaking havoc on her body, he had to do something. As much as his fears screamed inside him he knew if he did nothing and just hoped for the best, she probably wouldn't make it. He'd sworn to take care of her, that had to mean doing anything necessary.

"Jon?"  
"Mm?"  
"Lie with me?" Her teeth chatter and he gazes at her for a moment or two, before giving a small nod and getting up, climbing carefully on to the couch behind her and pulling the blanket over the two of them, he drapes his arm over her and she snuggles back against him. Curling herself up. It's the strangest feeling, he'd never held her like this before. Never held any girl this way. It made him feel even more protective and even more determined he'd do whatever it took to get her well and keep her safe. Even if it meant facing the one thing he feared more than anything. He'd do it, they just had to hold out until morning.

When morning does come, she's worse than she was. Almost delirious and sobbing, he tries his best to bring her around but it's almost like she's living in another world. He had to do it, he had to get her in somewhere safe and warm.. or at least warmer than this. Where he could give her a hot bath and cook some food. His stomach was twisted up in knots, nerves and worry tied together in one inseparable ball. "Sam.."  
"No.. don't touch me.."  
He draws back, confused by her words. "Sammy it's me..."  
"Please, don't!" She cries. He felt sick, what was she seeing?  
"Sam please.. it's Jon, I'm not gonna hurt you I just have to get you somewhere safe..."  
"DON'T TOUCH ME!"  
"Sammy please!" He tries to wrangle her but she lashes out at him, catching him across the cheek with a clawed hand, leaving grazes across his skin. He doesn't let it put him off, he'd been stabbed with a screwdriver a few scratches wasn't anything to worry about. Grasping her wrists and using his strength to pin her hands down as she tried to fight him. "Sam.. I'm sorry... stop it... it's Jon.."

She lets out a frightening wail, the sound of it chilling him inside. He knew exactly what her fevered delirium was showing her and exactly who she was seeing when she looked at him. She was seeing her father, what that animal did to her. It makes him sick to his core and he backs off, no matter how desperate things were, he wouldn't do that to her. He had to wait for this to break, for her to come out of it. He slumps down on to the floor and buries his face in his hands, listening to her sob her heart out then break in to a fit of coughing. He'd never felt so utterly desperate in his whole life, he'd die without her. He'd screwed this up badly.

"I'm sorry, Sam.." he murmurs, lifting his head and smudging tears away with his palms. "I was supposed to protect you and... I'm sorry."

He falls silent and eventually dozes off himself, exhausted, leaning against the wall. When he comes around his neck is stiff but Sam is quiet, sleeping peacefully. He moves over to her and checks her forehead. Her fever was still high. For a few moments he doesn't quite know what to do, if he should try rousing her again, he comes to the eventual conclusion he had no choice. He had to, he had to get her out of here. So with his hand on his shoulder he cautiously rocks her and says her name in the softest voice possible, not wanting to startle or trigger any further bad delusions. She opens her eyes after a while, his name slipping from her lips. She was more lucid this time, knew who he was and who she was at least.

"You have to get up, let me help you.." He says quietly. Getting to his feet and aiding her. She groans, coughing, wheezing. No strength in her body. He was well built and strong for his age, so he all but supports her entire body-weight as he gets her up and standing. Her arm draped around his shoulder.  
"Where are we going?" she manages in a weak, barely audible mumble.  
".. my house."

He hadn't been 'home' in months, but he couldn't let pride and hatred keep him from helping her. Gathering up the meager few things they owned, he helps her out of the building. It's painfully slow going and they draw strange looks from the people braving the snow on the streets. He ignores them all, trudging, step by agonizing step. The blocks to his street, to his building, the grotty, run down apartment block that had long since seen better days. Garbage bags lined the damp concrete halls, graffiti covered the walls. Stairwells smelled like urine and the elevators didn't work of course. His strength once again pays off as he carries her up to the third floor, that knot of nerves so tight in his stomach now he feels a little like he might be sick. He reaches the door and tries it.. unlocked, what a surprise. The men came and went as they pleased as usual, she very rarely locked the doors.

As it swings open he's instantly hit by the smell of cigarettes and cider, and also the strong smell of damp and mold The wallpaper peeling in the hallway and a build up of mail piles against the door itself. She hadn't checked any of it in God knows how long. He hauls Sammy inside and kicks the door shut, glancing down the hallway to the living room where the door was slightly ajar. He's about to make his way down there when he hears it. The unmistakable sound of sex. "Ugh.. fucks sakes." He mutters to himself, then looks down at the girl held in his arms. She wasn't with it enough to really notice the noises, the slapping of skin against skin and then his Mothers moans. He makes a move the second she starts 'talking dirty' to whatever customer she has in there. He's not sticking around for that. With a hefty deep breath he all but drags the now semi conscious Sam down the corridor and through to the room that was supposedly his. Though it was all but stripped bare now, she'd sold or used everything, or it had been stolen. But the bed was still there. He carefully gets Sam on to it and goes in search of a blanket, covering her up and heading through to the grubby bathroom. There was a condom in the sink.

"Nice, Mom.." he grumbles, leaning over the dirty bath tub and starting the hot water, hoping and praying there would actually be some. Eventually after a terribly long wait, it starts to run hot. The relief is almost miraculous, he hadn't felt hot water in months, but the bath wasn't for him. Not yet anyway. There was no bubblebath and barely any soap but the hot water would do. Leaving it to run he heads out to get Sam again.

"Where are we?"  
"My place." He tells her quietly, helping her through to the bathroom, "well, my Moms.. but we had to get somewhere warm."  
"A bath?" she murmurs as he gets her into the bathroom.  
"Yep, hot one.. it'll help you feel better. Then I'm gonna see about some food."  
"Don't leave me." She whimpers, clutching his hand. He frowns.  
"You need to.. get in the bath."  
"Help me?"  
He lifts his eyebrows, looking at her. Well this was awkward, but she was so delirious anyway he supposed it wouldn't make very much difference. He carefully aids her out of her clothing and does his best not to stare, but his raging teenage hormones can't help but be fascinated by her body. His mouth dry and his heart pounding. One day... one day when they were living happily ever after, maybe she'd be his. He helps her in to the bath, sinking down into the hot water. Getting her settled, he's rising to his feet when the bathroom door suddenly swings open and a shocked gasp has him whirling round to come face to face with her.  
"Mom.."  
"Jonny? What the fuck is this? Who the fuck is she?!"  
"Mom it's alright, she's a friend."  
"You got a naked girl in my bath tub..."  
"She's a friend, she's sick."  
"What's wrong with her?"  
"I don't know, flu.. a cold, something.."  
"Ugh, I don't see you for fucking months and then you bring some diseased slut in here?"  
"She's not a slut! She's a friend."  
"You fucking her?"  
"No!"  
His Mother snorts, "of course not. Well get her the fuck outta here this isn't a hotel."  
"Mom, we need somewhere to stay."  
With that his Mother turns and leaves the bathroom, heading off down the hall with that drunken stagger of hers. He follows after her. "Mom!"  
"She's not staying here."  
"It's fucking freezing outside and she's sick, please."  
"Not my problem."  
"You can't do just this ONE thing for me?" He snaps at her as they enter the kitchen, she lights up a cigarette and heads to the fridge, pulling out a beer.  
"Oh don't pull that dog shit on me you're the one that fucking ran away."  
"I wonder why?" He growls angrily.

His Mother tosses her lighter down on the dirty yellow kitchen table and slumps in to one of the seats, glaring at him. She was a sack of wrinkled bitterness, with her bleached blonde hair showing thick dark roots and her cheap make up smeared over her face. Track marks up her arms from the needles she stuck in herself on a daily basis. Skin around her nose chapped and sore looking from whatever she'd been snorting. Dressed only in a dressing gown and pink slippers she looked every bit the washed up whore she was. Pushing 40 and dressing like she was 20, it was disgusting and made his skin crawl, if he had his way he'd never see the bitch again in his life. But he had no choice. When you're this low on options you take what you can get.

"Please, Mom. Just until she gets better. Then we're gone."  
"Jonny..." she sighs heavily. "Every time you do this there's trouble."  
"What do you mean every time? I've never brought anybody back before."  
"I mean every time you show up. Every time you deem me worthy of your presence." She waves her hand in the air like she's addressing royalty. Again the urge to punch her in her venomous face is overwhelming but he somehow keeps a lid on it. She was like pure poison and somehow she always made him out to be the bad one in this so called Mother/Son 'relationship'. "Every time you show up there's trouble on your tail, cops, social services..."  
"They're usually here for you." He says coolly.  
"Because of you."  
"Because I'm your fucking SON!" He yells at her, "and it'd be nice if for once you actually fucking gave a SHIT!" he seethes, anger and bitterness taking control. He reins himself back. Bowing his head and not looking at her as she drags on her cigarette and takes long gulps from the can of beer. "it's freezing out there, Mom," he says it in a much smaller voice. "Please."  
There's a lingering silence and all he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears. The rage and hatred boiling over and directed at this woman. He loathed having to ask her for a damn thing, but he had to admit defeat this time. The one time in his whole life he really needed her, would she see that?  
"Alright, you can stay." She hisses eventually, "but you keep to your room and don't get in the way. I'm working. And you pay for anything you use."  
"We'll be gone soon as she's better." He mumbles, "thanks."  
She waves him off. "Whatever, what's the little princesses name?"  
"Samantha.. Sammy."  
"How old is she?"  
"Thirteen."  
His Mothers eyebrows raise. "She work?"  
"No."  
"Not even..."  
"No. She wouldn't do that." His hackles raise.  
"What's she doing with you?"  
"She ran away from home, we're just friends. I take care of her."  
"Evidently not that well." She snickers cruelly. It's like a stab to Jon's heart but before he can retaliate at all she's on her feet. "Well go and see to her, I have another regular in ten minutes. Become invisible." She breezes past him and off to get ready. He cringes, a shudder running up his spine. She repulsed him. Shaking that off though he heads to the cupboards, practically bare as usual but he does manage to find some soup and some bread that isn't covered in mold. Heating it up he takes it to his room and then goes to rescue Sam from the bath, finding her already out of it and trying to re-dress herself. He helps her out and leads her back to his room. Giving her painkillers they share the soup and bread and then tuck themselves up in bed. Face to face this time. Draping his arm over her again, holding her close to him.

"You feel any better?"  
"The bath was nice," she whispers.  
"Told you I'd take care of you." He smiles  
"Thanks." She smiles back. She might be sick and pale and clammy but in that moment the urge to kiss her is overwhelming. But he doesn't get too far in to the thought as she closes her eyes, curling herself up against his chest. He sighs, she was too young anyway. Now wasn't their time. But some day.. he was pretty sure he'd love her forever.

He sleeps like a rock, having not slept on a real bed out of the intense cold in so long it was like hid body plain switched itself off. Dreamless, wonderful sleep.

But what happens in the morning is nothing but nightmare. As he sits with her over a slice of toast each there's a thundering knock at the door. One that his Mother answers. Instantly the bad feeling sets in to his stomach and creeps throughout his entire body, he can hear their muffled voices but not what they're saying. He shares a glance with Sammy and frowns, usually the only people that came to this door were men wanting to fuck his Mom. None of them knocked and they certainly didn't stand around on the doorstep chatting in the freezing cold. Then suddenly, she bursts in to the room.

"Now Jonny, don't start..."  
"Don't start wha..." he trails off as two men and a woman in suits follow her in. "What the fuck is this?"  
"My names Patricia I'm from Social Services." The woman smiles curtly at Jon as the two men position themselves so that Jon couldn't hope to get past them. He glares at them and then at his Mother.  
"What the fucks going on?!"  
"Jon? I don't wanna go.. don't let them..."  
"Samantha there's nothing to be scared of, we're going to take good care of you.."  
"WHAT?! NO! FUCK YOU!" Jon yells, lurching forward and trying to grab Sam, for what he didn't know. Take her hand? Run away together? Escape.  
"Jonny she's not your problem and she's sick." His Mother tries to reason.  
"You did the right thing calling us Mrs Good." Patricia informs her as Jon rages, now held back by the two bigger men as Sammy cries and refuses to go. It's like the world stops turning, everything loses it's color and sound in one fell swoop. Pinned to the wall as he watches them drag the one thing, the one person, that ever meant anything to him out of the room. Her cries and pleas for him to help are like claws digging at his heart, he fights, with everything he has. One of the men has blood on his suit from his broken nose. But still he's pinned. His Mother yelling at him to calm down. To behave, that it was for her own good. He struggles until there's nothing left, the sound of the car pulling away and Sammy taken from his life. The two men finally leave him alone, but there's no more fight in him. Slumping against the wall, sliding down it to the floor. The front door slams shut.  
"Now Jonny you have to stop this nonsense.." His Mother sneers, "she was a sick girl she needed professional care and I'm sure as shit not being responsible for another kid around here, bad enough I have to put up with you."

Click, the lighter. The stench of smoke. He drops his hands from his face.  
"You could have told us to go, I could have protected her.."  
"Don't be ridiculous you cant even take care of yourself." She snorts.  
"She's all I had!" He rears to his feet again, yelling at her, "you fucking BITCH, she was the only good thing to ever fuckin happen to me and YOU took her away!"  
"Don't be so dramatic."  
"FUCK YOU!" He roars it at her, angrier than he ever had been in his life. He grasps the edges of the table and upturns it, knocking his Mother to the floor, he grabs a chair, hurling it against the wall.  
"JONNY STOP!"  
"I fucking HATE YOU! I came to you for help and you can't even do that, you can't even do this one FUCKING thing for me you bitter miserable WHORE!"  
She gets to her feet, sneering right back at him. Her disgusting, poisonous face getting in his. "You're not good enough, and you'll never BE good enough."

With that, he strikes his own Mother. So hard she bites her tongue and collapses to the floor, blood trickling from her mouth. She looks up at him, stunned. His shoulders heaving with anger and adrenaline coursing through his veins.

"I hate you." He mutters. Slowly un-clenching his fist as she stares back at him, holding her hand over her mouth. He shakes his head, defeated and broken, kicking the mess on the floor out of his way he heads for the door. For the last time.

He never wanted to see her again.

**Tbc...**


	4. The Butterfly Effect

_Authors Note: No flashback in this one, but its leading to a major one. Enjoy!_

* * *

"Ah, fuck.." he hisses as the cigarette burns down to his fingers, tossing it aside quickly and shaking his hand off. He'd been so lost in thought and the memory of Sam he'd barely touched the thing and it had burned right down to the filter. He examines the now blistering skin and grumbles, just another stellar addition to his day. He checks his watch and it's nearly thirty minutes since the nurse had told him he had to wait a little longer to see his Mother. He should probably head back inside, but for a while he doesn't move, just simply continues to lean against the wall, staring out across the parking lot to the sparse trees and park beyond. The wind rustled in the leaves and sent a candy bar wrapper drifting across the concrete. He suddenly felt very alone and he supposed he was, he always had been. Floating through life without ever really connecting to anybody. There were a handful of reasons for that. Trust, mainly. He'd learned from an early age that trust wasn't something you handed out very easily, in fact the list of people he trusted in this world he could count on one hand and have a few fingers left over. None of them, so far, were female. Maybe it was Mother issues, some deep seated mistrust of women instilled him from the day he was born. When it came to the opposite sex it seemed like the only things they brought in to his life so far were betrayal and pain, after Sam he'd made a vow to himself. It had hurt so much. A solemn vow to never let himself get attached ever again, feelings got you hurt.

Avoid getting close, don't let anybody in. Never feel, never love, never get close. That way nobody can betray you and rip your heart out, leave you feeling the way he had when Sam had been dragged out of that door. After he'd struck his Mother he'd fled that house and that had been the last time he'd seen her for a handful of years. He'd tried his hardest to track down Sam, find her, rescue her from whatever hell hole they'd put her in to. But he was fifteen years old with no resources and not a penny to his name, there were only so many people he could ask, only so many dead ends he could turn up before it became obvious he was on to a losing battle. He'd never find her, he'd let her down, he'd failed her completely and he'd never see her again. He supposed that was a fitting punishment. He'd also never made another promise to another living soul since.

Sighing miserably he drags his hand through his hair and turns back to the building, heading up the concrete steps and to it's doors letting himself back inside. It was warmer and he lifts his hands to his mouth, cupping them and blowing on them in an attempt to heat them up a little bit. His fingers felt numb.

"Any news?" he asks Kim as he moves toward the reception. The woman looks over her glasses at him and pouts a little.  
"Let me call and ask." She replies briskly, picking up the phone and punching in a few numbers. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his coat and waits, listening to what she's saying as she talks with whoever is on the other end of that phone. His brow creases as Kim seems to get some kind of negative response. Eyeing her cautiously as she puts the phone down and sighs heavily. "I'm sorry, you're going to have to come back."  
"What, why?" He scowls, moving a little closer.  
"They had to completely sedate your Mother, she had a poor reaction to their initial..."  
"The fuck? How crazy is she?!" He asks, a little surprised. He'd known she'd lost her shit thanks to all the drugs she'd stuffed into her system over the years but to completely lose the plot to the point she needed knocking out was something else. Kim purses her lips.  
"She wouldn't be in here if she wasn't very sick, Mister Good. I'm sorry, it would have been better to schedule an appointment rather than just turning up."  
"I ain't good at appointments," he grumbles, not adding on that the reason was he was usually too drunk or hungover to make it to them. "She gonna be awake any time soon?"  
"I'd come back another day."

He huffs, irritated at the wasted time and silently thinking this was just another ploy by his Mother to piss him off. She was always awkward, never helped him out, constantly spitting in his face, why should it be any different now. Typical really, the one time in all these years he really needed to speak to her and she wasn't there, again. "Alright." He admits defeat.  
"Would you like to schedule an appointment?"  
"Nah, I'll just.. come back another day." He mutters, already heading for the door.

He shoves it open and steps back out into the cold, thoroughly pissed off and tugging his keys out of his pocket. Heading for his car and getting inside. Once in there, he sits for a moment, his hands braced against the steering wheel staring up at the large building in front of him. She was in there somewhere, useless to him as always. Fucking bitch. What he wouldn't give to storm back in there, knock out the two security guys, find her and scream in her face until his voice gave out. There wasn't a word invented that was strong enough to describe his hatred for the woman that spawned him and all he wanted from her was answers, a reason why, something. Anything. To give some kind of meaning to the hell he'd been through and the things she'd done. But she couldn't even give him that. How was he supposed to make peace with his past and move on with his life when he didn't even understand what had happened?

He angrily jams the key into the ignition and tears out of the car park like the Devils on his tail. Heading back to the apartment he shared with two other wrestlers. Parking up outside and sparking up a smoke he gets out and slams the door shut, heading up the small path and letting himself in to the building, trudging up the stairs to the second floor and letting himself in. It wasn't a fancy place, far from it. Wrestlers were transient at the best of times and rarely settled anywhere for very long unless they were the long term girlfriend/marrying type. That meant very few places they lived in got decorated beyond the adding of a few posters to the walls and some cruddy furniture usually rescued from junk yards. Such was the case with this place. He heads through to the kitchen and goes straight to the fridge, tugging a beer from the case and twisting the cap off with a practiced turn of his wrist. He glugs down a good half of the bottle then wipes his hand over his mouth, glowering at the sink and the pile of plates in it most likely left by his roommates. One of which was away at some show in Philadelphia. The other was probably watching horror movies in the living room. In fact if he wasn't mistaken he could hear the faint sound of women screaming. Typical, Sami Callihan was a horror movie junkie and owned hundreds of the fucking things on DVD. Weren't really Jon's scene. If there was such a thing as a protégée in this world Jon supposed Sami was perhaps his. The kid had rolled quite literally in to HWA and begun his training some time ago and Jon had taken him under his wing after a fashion. There weren't many people he connected with in the world but Sami was one of them. Another misfit, he'd been fat and out of shape but with huge dreams and whole fuck ton of determination behind him. Jon had been that kid too, he'd been told he was too young, too lanky, not built enough, he'd never get anywhere, never be anybody, certainly not win a single Championship in his career.

While WWE continued to elude him and wrestling had lost a lot of its shine recently, he'd made it his sole mission in life to prove as many people wrong as he possibly could. So far he'd done a damn good job. He'd seen an echo of his young self in Sami and that was what had drawn him to him. Sami soaked up information like a sponge and had quickly begun to adopt some of Jon's wilder characteristics. The 'idea' of Sami Callihan was slowly forming, developing under Jon's watchful eye. Now a promotion named CZW was interested in bringing him in. Jon had heard of the place, it was all light tubes and barbed wire and death match bullshit. It wasn't wrestling as far as he was concerned. But if Sami thought that might be where he could make a name for himself then more power to him.

Jon sucks down a little more of the beer and perches the bottle on the kitchen table, pulling out cigarettes from his pocket. As he does, his phone also slips free, making him fumble to catch it and almost dropping it on the floor. He swears under his breath and places it down on the table beside the bottle, sticking the smoke in his mouth and lighting it he inhales deeply, then stares at the dark screen. The phone... Claire's number. The doe eyed dark haired beauty back at that fucking asylum. Well, if there was one way he could salvage this day, perhaps she was it. He exhales a cloud of smoke through his nose and plucks up the phone, unlocking it and finding her number he hesitates for only a moment before hitting 'send' and putting it to his ear, draining the last of his bottle of beer while he waits for her to answer. Of course, she could still be with whoever she'd been there to see, it hadn't been that long since she'd left him standing out in the cold. He's about to give up and hang up when the ringing stops and there's a slight pause, followed by a cautious "Hello?"

"Hi." He pauses in his tracks, empty beer bottle in his hand.  
"Hi."  
"It's me.." he blurts out, for some reason suddenly completely lost for words. His usual cool casual demeanor when it came to women all but thrown out of the window and he didn't know why.  
"And you are?"  
"Oh, right. Jon.. the guy with a name like dog food."  
"Ohhh, wow. You waited a full two hours before calling me huh?"  
He grimaces, oops. "Yeah well, plans I had kinda fell through, not my smoothest move to date though I gotta admit."  
"That's okay, I forgive you."  
"Wanna let me make it up to you?"  
"You think you can rescue this situation?" She chuckles softly.  
"I think I can try, what time do you get off?"  
"Well that depends.." she pauses, "what time are you picking me up?"  
He smirks, dropping the empty beer bottle in to the trash. "Seven."  
"Well okay then, you'll have to show me one of 'your' types of bars."  
"I can do that, if you think you have the stomach for it."  
"I'll bring my knuckle dusters."  
He growls a little, nodding although obviously she can't see it. "Text me your address."  
"I will."  
"Alright, see you in a few hours then."  
"Bye, Mister Moxley."

He says nothing, simply hanging up and putting the cigarette to his lips, thinking this out. A handful of moments later his phone beeps and he lifts it again, checking the message and finding her address. Game on. He wasn't looking for love and romance, he wasn't looking to wine and dine the girl. But she had his interest and that was pretty rare. If she was lucky, he'd listen to her talk for a while about whatever inanity she fancied, then go for the home run. Get in, get gone. She'd certainly be memorable, women like her just weren't interested in guys like him. It was two entirely different worlds colliding and that could never be healthy. But for one night? If she wanted to live dangerously he'd give her a taste. With that in mind he heads off to the living room to join Sami with his movies for a few hours. No, he wouldn't be sprucing up and changing and doing all of the other shit people going on dates usually did. She could have Jon Moxley as he was, or not at all.

He pulls up outside her house a few hours later and lowers the cigarette from his mouth, just staring. Was this some kind of prank? He'd taken her for a higher class of person than he was that was for sure, but this was ridiculous. He glances around, the other houses distorted by the rain trickling down the windows as it pelted the well manicured gardens and street surrounding him. It was dark and their lights shone like homely welcoming beacons in the night. The kinds of homes you saw on TV or in magazines advertising luxury lifestyle or maybe life insurance or couches or some shit. There was a white picket fence and a long garden path lined with rose bushes and a neatly kept lawn, the house itself looked warm and cosy, it wasn't massive but it looked expensive. New and lavish and probably no peeling wallpaper or stained carpets. He highly doubted it smelled like alcohol, feet and cigarettes. There probably wasn't a single cobweb to be found. He clears his throat, stubbing the cigarette out in the ashtray of his beaten up old car and feeling about as out of place as a penguin in a lions den. This wasn't his world, it was a million miles away from anything he was familiar with. He didn't even realize Cincinnati had peaceful suburbs, he was a city boy through and through. It's right there and then he becomes certain she's made a grave mistake and if he wants the end result of this to go his way he's going to have to play his cards right, because as soon as she knows what he really is, as soon as she sees there's no polishing up to be done here, he's out the door.

With a deep breath he exits the car and shrugs his leather coat up tighter round his neck and shoulders to protect against the driving ice cold rain. He jogs up the path and reaches her door, hammering on it gently under the safety of the porch. He waits, hoping this wasn't a prank and she hadn't sent him to the wrong house because a girl like that would never be caught dead with a guy like him. He hears the locks twist and the door swings open bathing him in a golden light, the air's knocked from his lungs a little as he takes her in. Black dress that hung to her mid thigh and skimmed her curves in all the most tantalizing places, knee high boots with startlingly high heels he couldn't imagine how she could possibly be standing upright in them. Her hair was down settled around her shoulders, her eyes smoky and her lips a deep maroon. She smiles.

"Hey."  
"Hey.. "  
"Come on in, I'm almost ready." She gestures to him and leads him inside. He follows cautiously, looking around himself like the furniture might bite him. So this was how the other half lived? Everything looked very expensive, like you darent sit on the couches or even get close to the furniture in case you got it dirty. She takes him through to the kitchen and offers him a beer he gratefully accepts. The sooner he can get trashed the better.  
"How was your little girl with big problems?" He asks quietly, sipping from his beer. She pours herself a glass of wine and glances back at him, shrugging a little.  
"Still little, still full of problems."  
"Job has to suck." He grumbles.  
"It has it's moments."  
"Why do you do it?" He asks curiously, sitting at the kitchen bar.  
"What, help people?" She returns the question to him with the wine glass in front of her lips. He narrows his eyes a fraction.  
"I ain't had the best of experiences with Social Services. Call me skeptical."  
"Oh?"  
He realizes what a corner he's just put himself in and swigs from the bottle again, stalling. "Guess you could say my childhood wasn't a bed of roses, certainly wasn't anything like this place. I probably spent more time with Social Services than I did my cuntwhore of a mother." She blinks and he stares right back at her, unflinching. "You asked." He reminds.  
"Did they help you?"  
"Not remotely." He puts the beer down and a little of it spills from the top, trickling down the side of the bottle and on to the marble counter. He lifts it back up again and wipes it with the sleeve of the hoodie he was wearing under his jacket.  
"Did they try?"  
"I'm sure they thought what they were doing equated to help but what it really boiled down to was throwing me in to fuckin Foster homes that treated me like shit repeatedly, that I'd eventually run away from and end up back on the streets anyway. I had a choice, live out there, by my rules on my terms and fight for everything I ever had, food, shelter, warmth. Or, I could go with Social Services Foster placements and spend my time getting fuckin cigarettes put out on me and listening to Dad fuck the Foster daughter, wondering when he'd finally decide he had a taste for little boys too and come at me.. and that was just one of the extra special places they put me in. There was another I was in when I was 10, real fuckin interesting having your first sexual encounter with an abused 12 year old girl that didn't know how to act any other way around boys. Oh and let's not forget when they tore the one fuckin person I ever loved away from me..."  
"Family?"  
He snorts. "A girl. I took care of her. And they took her away thanks again to my wonderful fuckin Mother." He takes another gulp from the bottle. Grinding his teeth a little after, the subject always made him angry.  
"I'm sorry."  
"Don't, don't do that.." he lifts his eyes back to her and for the first time, she flinches a little. The look in them intense and cold. "Don't pity me. Last thing I want or need."  
"I wasn't, I work with stories like that every day I know you don't need my pity. But I am sorry they let you down, I guess I was apologizing on behalf of my job." She smiles warmly, it does somewhat placate the beast inside him threatening to rise and defend itself.

"Yeah well, it's real easy to look in on people like me and see a sob story. I don't even know what I'm fuckin doing here honestly."  
"I invited you."  
"A complete stranger you don't fuckin know."  
"You didn't seem like an axe murderer."  
"You just wanted to slum it for a night?"  
"No.." she frowns, "look you brought up my job, we can drop it just as easily."  
"You ever taken a kid and placed em in Foster care?"  
"Yes."  
"You inspect the places you put em in?"  
"Yes."  
"Bullshit."  
She sighs, "what do you do for a living?"  
"Pro Wrestler."  
"Like Hulk Hogan?"  
"I fucking well hope not." He smirks.  
"So you don't tear open a yellow shirt and tell people to take their vitamins and say their prayers?"  
"I beat people to within an inch of their lives and enjoy it, pretty much my thing." He shrugs.  
"So you're not the stereotype." She concludes. "There's more to you."  
"... clever." He eyes her.

"Just saying, not everybody is the same and you had some bad experiences and that's unfortunate. There's corruption everywhere and we don't always get everything right. But don't tar me with the same brush as whoever was handling your case. You probably had someone that just didn't give a crap. I do.. I really try to help these kids. It kills me.. some of the things they've been through."  
"We're not trash, and that's what it seems like. Like Social Services just throws us in to the nearest trash can and hopes we stay there. Don't check to see what's inside it, don't follow up. Just dust off their hands and hope for the best."  
"It happens." She says sadly. "But I try to be thorough. There's good and bad everywhere."  
"Right." he sighs.  
"What happened to your Girl?" she asks curiously.  
"Wish I knew. I tried to track her down but... she disappeared in to the system, never saw her again."  
"She got a name?"  
"Sam.. Samantha Taylor." He murmurs.  
"You still miss her?"  
He bows his head, bringing the bottle to his lips it hovers there. "Every day." He says quietly.

Sipping from the bottle he hears her place the wine glass down on the counter, moving around to his side, he places the beer back down and looks at her. She lifts a hand to his cheek and he holds still as she runs her fingers up to his brow, over the scars there from one thing or another. Mostly wrestling, a little cut here, a little slice there. The blood thrilled the crowd.

"Why do you do it?" She asks.  
"Because it's the only time I feel alive." Simple answer.  
"I've seen wrestling, I used to watch with my Dad. Jake Roberts.. Roddy Piper.. Ric Flair. I always wondered how you put your body on the line night after night, the aches and pains must be constant."  
"It's worth it." He shrugs, "besides, I kinda get off on pain. Always have. Reminds me I'm in the moment, I'm still here. Not dead yet."  
"I hear the crowds like a drug."  
"Sometimes, but really it's just an outlet.. for me anyway. Sure the other guys do it for the fame and the glory of it, the women are good, money sucks unless you're top level. It's pretty much all ego." He shrugs again, "but it saved my life."  
She lowers her hand and looks in to his eyes.

"Got me off the streets. After they took Sam I had nothing, those few months fuckin' sucked. I was just existing.. avoiding the Cops, Social Services, sure as hell didn't wanna go home. I'd always loved wrestling when I got to watch it. When I was real little I'd watch Roddy Piper tapes and dream I could be just like him. Not give a fuck, say what I want and have people cheer me for it or hell, hate me. Just make an impact. Be somebody. Somebody someone gave a shit about rather than some kid stuck in his room cause his Mom's too busy fucking the neighborhood for cash." He chews on his lip, quieting for a moment. She doesn't move, stays right there, listening. "Few months after they took Sam I turned sixteen and it was shortly after that I saw a flyer for a local wrestling school and that was it.. I just.. knew. Like a light-bulb went off in my head. I always felt like I belonged somewhere and I knew the second I stepped in to that place that was where I was meant to be. Wrestling's the only fuckin thing that makes sense to me. Only thing I'm good at... and it gets me out of myself. For those ten minutes, twenty minutes.. however long. I don't have to be me and my fucked up problems anymore. I can be Jon Moxley.. untouchable, more sadistic and cruel than anybody, which makes me impossible to hurt. Impossible to beat."

He looks away from her, back down in to his lap. Lifting his hand he drags it through his mess of hair and shakes his head, chuckling. "Dunno why I'm telling you this."  
"You needed someone to talk to?"  
"Heh, always on the job."  
"Sounds like you are too, if Jon Moxley's your character name and yet it's the name you gave me."  
"Maybe." He looks back to her. "My real last name belongs to that whore, I don't want any part of it."  
"Understandable."

He sighs heavily and shakes his head, pushing away from the counter and getting to his feet. "Look, I ain't much of a Hallmark moment kinda guy.. I.."

He's taken by surprise as she suddenly moves over to him and kisses him. Another move he didn't see coming from this unusual woman. It's hard and passionate and full of want, an intoxicating mixture and it doesn't stop. She presses on and his few moments of surprise fade away. His instincts kicking in, he was the aggressor, he always was. If she wanted him she could have him. Like a flipped switch he suddenly tucks his hands under the hem of her dress and grabs her ass in two firm handfuls. She mews in to the kiss and he backs her up, pressing her against the fridge and then lifting her easily. The kiss breaks and he snarls, she grins down at him, tucking her hand in to his hair as the other travels down between them to the crotch of his jeans.  
"You're full of surprises." He growls.  
"I know what I want." She purrs back.  
"What do you want?"  
"You to fuck me."  
"You don't know what you're getting yourself in to." He warns.  
"But I want to."

A borderline sadistic grin spreads across his face and quickly his hand joins hers in undoing his belt and freeing him from the confines of his jeans. He kisses her, hard, pressing her back against the fridge it rattles against the wall. She shoves his coat from his shoulders and he takes just a moment to free himself of that and his hoodie before returning to the task at hand. Her legs wrapped tightly around him, she was by far one of the most beautiful women he'd ever gotten his hands on. Something to be said for good breeding, and here she was getting her hands dirty with a kid from the wrong side of the tracks. Maybe it's true about some chicks just wanting a bad boy. Far be it from him to disappoint.

Discovering the fact that she wasn't wearing any panties adds another air of mystery to her, he just couldn't figure her out. If she wasn't wearing any, she obviously had never planned to even leave the house unless she was a particular brand of daredevil. He pauses for just a moment, his hand between her legs, staring at her face as she bites her lip and closes her eyes at the contact. Stop over analysing things Jon and just enjoy, so says the little voice in the back of his head. That decided, he attacks her neck with bites and kisses as she claws her nails down along his back. The slight twinge of pain only serving to turn him on further.  
"Condom," he pants against her ear.

"Don't need one. I want to feel you.." she breathes right back.  
For some reason he trusts her. He pulls his head back from her neck and she lifts her hand, looking in to his eyes as she trails her tongue along her palm before tucking it between them, taking hold of him. He snarls a little, her grip sending electric strikes of pleasure coursing through him. She guides him to her and he grabs her hips, driving in to her with one hard jerk of his hips. She cries out and then bites his shoulder, he lets out a deep groan, she was hot and tight and felt so fucking good. Their lips find each other again as he begins to move, making her moan with every deep thrust. It takes some serious self control on his part not to just go to pieces in a handful of moments, she was truly something else. When she growls against his ear to fuck her harder it's like waving a red flag to a very wound up bull. He slips from her and lowers her to the ground, then grasps her almost roughly and turns her, bending her forward over the kitchen counter and grasping her hip in one hand, wrapping her hair up in his other and pulling it tight into his fist, he yanks it hard and drives himself back in to her, setting a relentless pace that takes her breath away. When her legs begin to tremble he knows he's doing a good job, moments later she cries out loudly and swears, her knuckles whitening as she grips the edge of the counter he feels her body react around him and he's done for too, releasing her hair and grabbing her hips with both hands he buries himself inside her and lets go, swearing loudly, leaning over her and pressing her to the counter under his weight, he rides it out, every blissful wave of pleasure almost cathartic after such a long and fucked up day.

Eventually they're still, nothing but pounding heart beats and struggling breaths. He lifts his head from where it rested between her shoulder blades. Placing a kiss on her damp skin before standing up right again. His hands smooth over her back and the material of the dress still in place. Over her soft, round ass that if he had his way, would stay bent over like that forever.

The thought makes him hesitate. Did he want to see this girl again? That never happened, usually he got off and got gone. By now he should be zipping up and heading out the door. Don't get involved, don't get attached. It only leads to having your heart ripped out through your chest. He grimaces a little and pulls free of her. Tucking himself back in to his boxers and jeans as she straightens up, smoothing her dress back down and running her fingers through her hair. He sweeps his back from his face and finally catches his breath, his skin cooling now, he briefly glances around for his coat and hoodie, both discarded on the floor. "Can I smoke?" He asks. Not exactly pillow talk. She moves around the counter toward her glass of wine and nods.

"Sure."

He nods, picking up his coat and fishing them out of his pocket he drapes the thing over the counter and lights one up. Looking back at her. He should just go. "So... that was.. fun."  
She smirks and pours herself a fresh glass, offering him another beer he accepts. "Don't think I'm done with you quite yet." She warns, making him arch an eyebrow as he exhales.

"No? What if I'm done with you?"

"If that's what you want." She shrugs, sliding the beer over to him and then backing up. "I have to go to the bathroom, I'll be right back."

He nods, taking the beer and lifting it to his lips. It was cold and crisp and refreshing, just what he needed. Alone in the kitchen he gazes around, everything screamed 'money'. He was so out of his element it wasn't even funny anymore, and yet somehow, something about this woman seemed compelling. His eyes fall upon something hanging on the wall, a kind of feathered crown that looked vaguely tribal. He moves over to it, examining it more closely. Beside it, a single framed photograph of her wearing it at what looked like a street party. He plucks the cigarette from his mouth and peers in a little closer, taking in the photo. Something catches his eye. A poster on the wall beside her in the picture.. she was in Puerto Rico.

Puerto Rico... now there's a story.

**Tbc...**


	5. Tell Me Where It Hurts

**4. Tell Me Where It Hurts**

"Fuck you Moxley... Fuck you Moxley..."  
The hoard of fans in the tiny, dingy arena hammer their fists on the apron of the ring and chant this repeatedly as he lies flat on his back, tongue hanging out of his mouth, blood and sweat in his eyes and his chest heaving, fighting for air as another match draws to a close and the actions of Jon Moxley once again have brought a crowd to boiling point. So far in his relatively short career, he'd never encountered a crowd quite like the one he found in Puerto Rico. The venues were small, there was often no guard rail and nobody gave a fuck. Here everybody 'believed'. For that handful of hours they lost themselves in the storybook of wrestling and a guy like Jon Moxley was the ultimate figure of hate. He was part of a tag team normally, playing a fiery English guy that got in the fans faces and pissed everybody off. Smug, catalytic, violent. Despite the fact he'd never even seen a postcard of England at this point, he felt more at home in this role than he ever had trying to shoehorn himself in to the Moxley HWA had him playing. Some cocky jock type with a too big mouth. It just wasn't him, back home it felt like he was trying too hard, it didn't come naturally. He was yet to find himself. But out here? Where the promoters didn't give a fuck what you did so long as you got the crowd off? He'd had a chance to just be himself, let whatever was inside come flooding out. Be in the moment.

Puerto Rico was where he truly found Jon Moxley. Or what he would become, at least.

But maybe that was a problem. Out here he was unleashed, out here nobody stood in his way or tried to get him to focus or told him how to behave. For the first time since he began wrestling he felt like he was on his own and that brought with it both the good and the bad. The chance to discover who he really was in the ring without people whispering in his ear telling him what he should be. But also, too much time alone with his thoughts and nobody to keep him in check. Keep him level. Keep him from slipping. When he'd begun at HWA he'd been taken under the wing of Les Thatcher and Cody Hawk, the men becoming like the Father and Brother he'd never had as well as his mentors. They'd gotten him off the streets and put him on the right path and with their strict guidelines and tutelage he'd begun to get his life together. Somewhere solid to stay, eating right, working out, focused. He'd gotten good – really good. Fast. Some of that had gone straight to his head, an ego forming and expanding at an alarming rate. He was untouchable, unbreakable, he was Jon Moxley the Ohio Wrestling Prodigy and he could do whatever the fuck he liked. He had women swarming around him, had been banging the hottest chick in HWA, he was a fucking God in his own universe.

But now he was alone and there was nobody to stop him going off the rails. When a young ego that size walks in to a place where every vice you could hope to encounter in this world is readily available and practically encouraged it's a recipe for disaster. After a few months out here, Jon was in a state of a decline he didn't even realize. The strict schedules all but gone from his life. He slept days away and got up at night, went to whatever show he was booked for, pissed everybody off, then left and headed for the nearest bar and bars in this place didn't just sell alcohol. Something he was quickly acquiring a strong taste for. He'd never really drunk that much at home, the odd beer after a show but nothing major. The memories of his Mothers habit too strong in his head to want to follow in her footsteps. But without the plan, without Cody and Les looming over him, without his friends, alcohol had become one of the only ways he could find to silence the noise in his head.

The memories, the echoes, ghosts of his past coming back to haunt him every day. On his own he couldn't stop them. His Mothers voice in his head telling him he was shit, he wasn't good enough, he'd never be good enough. He'd let her down. Sam's wail as they'd taken her away against her will. The dealers, the stabbing, the things he'd seen on the streets. He was trash, worthless, useless, better off dead. He felt defenceless against it all and alcohol did something he couldn't do alone, it drowned the demons and their shrieking voices. So that was what he did, from the moment he woke up until the second he passed out somewhere, he drank. He barely ate, he was losing weight though he didn't notice it. He worked out when he remembered to and stuffed painkillers down his throat several times a day to combat the pain in his lower back from an injury he should have gotten seen to long ago but couldn't afford. Back home, working out kept it in check. Out here he was in pain every day. Sometimes the painkillers and alcohol weren't enough, so he'd turn to the other medicines available on every street corner, in every club or fucking café. Drugs. Speed, Ketamine, Coke, half the time he didn't even really know what it was he was snorting or swallowing. He just took it. He was getting paid good money from the shows and had it to splash around.

"Jon!"  
He swipes blood out of his eyes and noise of the crowd comes flooding back. Looking up to see his Tag Partner Hade Vansen standing over him, their Tag Titles both held in his hand. He drapes one over Jon's chest and he lifts his hand, taking it.  
"You okay buddy?"  
"Huh?" He scowls a little, not quite making out Hade's words against the chanting vitriol coming from the fans. He'd also taken quite a blow to the head from a chair shot he'd been slightly too giddy to block properly. Busting him open the hard way, hence the blood in his eyes. He feels Hade's hand hook under his arm and the next thing he knows he's being helped to his feet by his partner and the referee. The crowd are booing at him and he remembers why in some sudden flash, the finish to the match, cheating as usual. Jon Moxley, ever the crowd pleaser. He glances back at their opponents still playing dead on the mat. He barely remembered most of the match.  
"Sit down."  
He does as he's told once they're through the curtain and away from the heat and the noise. Moments later cool air is blowing on his burning skin and he glances sideways to see one of the guys had put a fan on him. He pants like a dog, tongue hanging out, until a bottle of water is thrust into his hand.  
"Drink."

The orders are coming from Hade. The guy had his shit together. They weren't close friends but they made a good team and Hade looked out for him probably more than he should or had reason to. He was only a handful of years older than Jon but behaved much more so and had the wisdom of someone beyond his years. It was both the reason Jon liked him and the reason they'd never really been or would get close. When it came to wrestling though, they clicked. Jon would trust him with his life.

He puts the bottle to his lips and downs half of it in almost one gulp. A girl, her name was Sharon if he remembered rightly, begins wiping away the blood from his brow and trying to patch him up. She was a girlfriend of one of the guys but she was also an EMT by day, handy to have around backstage at a wrestling show. It takes a little while to get him cleaned up and cooled off, he'd overheated out there which was easy to do. The venue was not air conditioned and was pretty small, when packed out with a few hundred rabid fans it got blisteringly hot very fast and when already wired on whatever it was he'd shoved up his nose shortly before arriving here? Recipe for overheating.

"What'd you take?"  
"What? Nothing.." he defends himself as he unlaces his boots a while later, cooled down and more coherent now. Hade's already showered and changed and stands in front of him, leaning against the door frame in to the small back room that was one of the coolest in the building and hence best for Jon right now.  
"Bull, you were somewhere else tonight mate." The Englishman states flatly. Jon simply rolls his eyes a little, tugging his boots off and shoving them in his bag. "Look, you're fucking good at what you do and you fooled everybody else but you don't fool me. You've changed since you got out here."  
"How the hell have I changed?" Jon scowls, he disliked accusations at the best of times.  
"Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?"  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
"You look like shit."  
"Oh fuck off, I got sick remember? Probably just haven't gotten over that yet." He waves him off dismissively.  
"Jon, that was a month ago."

Was it? He frowns a little, trying to remember. Didn't feel like a month ago. Made the mistake of eating shellfish, something he'll never do again. Was sick for several days. His only answer to Hade's statement is to shrug, because he had no defense. Hade sighs, moving over and sitting down beside him.  
"Look man, after the shows do what the hell you like it's no skin off my nose. But don't turn up here wasted, you coulda had a fucking heart attack out there tonight, between the heat, the adrenaline and whatever the hell you took you were gone. I'm not your babysitter."  
"And I'm not asking you to be."  
"Right, well you're not the first guy I've seen come out here and piss it all away. You got something brilliant mate, you could be big time. But not if you keep going like you are, I don't know what the problem is but get it sorted out."  
"I'm not pissing anything away!" He snaps back.  
"Like I said, get sober and take a look at yourself in the mirror." Hade gets to his feet and pats Jon on the shoulder.  
"Whatever." Jon mutters, tugging the hair band out of his long hair and struggling with a knot or two.  
"Go get some sleep for fucks sakes." Hade pauses in the door, "I'll pick you up tomorrow afternoon."  
"Alright."

With that, Hade's gone. Leaving Jon alone to shower and dress. As he does this Hade's words echo in his head but unfortunately with the kind of mindset he has these days, the words don't go to a good place. Just another person telling him he wasn't good enough. He was a fuck up, he'd never get anywhere. By the time he leaves the venue he's seething and even though some small rational part of him knows that's not what Hade was trying to say, the red eyed demon inside is ripping him apart and needs silencing. He returns to the small apartment he was renting and throws his bag down, grabbing a bottle of cheap whiskey off of the night-stand and ripping the cap off of it he throws as much of it down his neck as he can in one long gulp. It tasted like aviation fuel and burned just as badly. When he comes up for air he swipes his hand across his mouth and glares around the small room. The longer he stayed here, the more he hated it. It was hot and dingy and smelled old. The fan on the ceiling did fuck all and there was barely room to swing a cat. Was there any wonder he felt stir crazy in here?

He throws the bottle down and grabs his coat off the floor, heading straight back outside again. With cash in his pocket and demons to drown he heads to a bar not far away and sets to another night of binging. Within an hour he's had several shots and a couple of beers, he's also found himself a couple of women. Or rather they found him, plying him with white powder they had stuffed between their ample tits in lipstick cases. The bartender didn't give a fuck when he snorted some of it off of the girls stomach as she laid across the table. Nobody did. Tequila shots, why not? The redhead holds the lime in her mouth, spreads salt over her left breast and balances the shot glass on her right. He licks the salt, grabs the glass with his teeth and knocks it back, then bites the lime from her mouth. Spitting it aside before kissing her. His head was spinning, the demons clawing, fighting against the tide. They didn't want to be drowned.

More.

"The fuck is this shit?" He slurs, looking at the green alcohol as it's set in front of him. The blonde giggles, balancing a spoon over the glass and placing a sugar cube on top of it. She sets fire to it. He doesn't understand why. The musics pounding, the redheads got her hand down his pants, he can still hear them. But not for long.  
"In Amsterdam they call it the Green fairy." The blonde purrs, crawling over his lap. He smirks, she hands him the glass. It was hot from the fire.  
"Sounds like a fags drink."  
"All your problems will just melt away." She says dreamily, high as a kite and laughing.  
But that did sound good. He glances at the glass in his hand then knocks it back like an old pro. It's like fire going down, he's pretty sure it's burned a hole right through his soul. He gasps, trying to get air, swearing, then finds himself snorting a line of coke off of the redheads tits.

He's fucking done. The walls are melting. The demons are drowned.

He crashes through the door into his apartment and knocks the lamp off the chest of drawers nearby. The redhead stumbles in after him, giggling and grasping for him. She kicks the door shut and he barely makes it to the bed. Everything's a blur, happening in snatched moments. One minute he's there and the next he's not. She undoes his belt and kneels between his legs. He flops backward, staring at the ceiling. It was swirling and dancing and the sensations as she puts him in her mouth are like no other. He scrunches his eyes shut, the swaying ceiling was making him feel a little seasick. His hand curls in her hair, focusing on the feeling. She was good.

"Fuck... Sam..." he breathes.  
She stops what she's doing, looking up at him. "My names Amber."  
He opens his eyes, looking down at her. "What I said."  
"No you said Sam."  
He blinks, too high and too drunk to piece it together. He shakes his head. "Whatever.. c'mere." He drunkenly reaches for her and luckily she's drunk enough that she lets it go too. Taking his hand and crawling over him he shoves her on to her back and paws at her body, fumbling with clothing, eventually getting her panties off of her. The sex isn't memorable, it doesn't last for long, but in his mind he was a fucking Adonis. He slumps to her side, arm thrown over his eyes, he passes out.

He hadn't been on a beach in the longest time. The sand was warm and there didn't seem to be another soul for miles. He breathes in the cool, crisp sea air and looks out to the horizon. He felt peaceful, everything was quiet. No noise, no clawing demons, no echoes. Just blissful calm. Her hand slips over his shoulder and she leans her cheek against his arm. Looking out to the sea with him. He bows his head, sighing sadly before brushing his long hair back out of his face and glancing sideways at her. Older now, but still so beautiful.  
"I'm sorry, Sam." He murmurs quietly.  
A soft smile spreads over her face as she tilts her head to look back up at him. "Don't be, I'm okay."  
"I miss you."  
"I'm more worried about you, Jon. What happened?"  
"What do you mean?"  
"Why are you doing this?"  
"Because I let you down."  
"You didn't let me down, none of it was your fault. I wish you'd stop blaming yourself."  
"I should have fought harder."  
"But I'm alright."  
"I shouldn't have let them take you, I should have done more."  
"Stop." She whispers, lifting her hand to his cheek and making him look back at her. "You have to let me go."  
"I can't."  
"You have to, I just want you to be okay." She strokes her hand through his hair. It's so soothing, like she made it all go away.  
"We had so many plans." He mutters.  
"I know." She turns him to face her, resting their foreheads together her hands travel up along his arms. "But you're killing yourself." She cups his face in her hands. "Let me take care of you for once."  
"How?"  
"Do as I say."  
"I'm listening."  
"Go home, it isn't good for you here. Go home.. and forget about me."  
"I'll never forget you."

Her smile could match the sunrise. His hands gently cup her face in return and he dips his head, brushing his lips over hers. It felt so good to kiss her. Just for a moment, just for this once. Her arms slip around his neck and pull him closer. She tasted sweet, like all the things he'd never have. Then suddenly she's fighting to get free of him, pulling away, her fists pounding against his chest.  
"GET OFF ME! I HATE YOU!" She shoves him back and he releases her, stumbling away. No longer on the beach, he's on the floor. The cold, tile floor. He shudders on his hands and knees, looking up as Heather stands over him, her cheeks streaked with tears and mascara after one of their particularly nasty fights. "I hate you, you're a fucking ASSHOLE! get out... GET OUT!"  
"Heather I..."  
"When are you ever going to WAKE UP!"

His entire body jerks and he chokes, barely rolling on to his side and grabbing the garbage can beside the bed before his body does it's best to expel the over indulgences of last night. Heaving until there's nothing left to come up, he collapses on to his back. Breathless and sweat drenched, fighting for air. Absinthe is a powerful hallucinogen and pretty hard to come by in its purest form, but in Puerto Rico you can get anything. It had been Jon's first taste and with this, he's pretty sure it's his last. He's never drinking anything green again.

Despite the curtains being closed sunlight streams in through a crack in the center and threatens to blind him. He lifts his head, glancing to his side where the redhead had been. But she's long gone. Had it even happened? He looks down at himself and his jeans are open and everything exposed, there's also a condom. So that did happen. He groans deeply, rubbing at his head. Laying there for a while until the room stops spinning enough that he thinks he can get to his feet without vomiting. It's a struggle to do so though, his legs feel weak and shaky. He staggers to the bathroom and rids himself of the condom before taking care of various other bodily functions. After throwing up a second time he hovers over the sink, washing his mouth out and brushing his teeth. He barely notices the note left on the mirror until he's drying his mouth. Written in lipstick.

"**My names not Sam, asshole."**

"Ugh." He tosses the towel aside and leaves the little bathroom, heading for the small kitchen and yanking open the practically bare fridge. But there's bottles of water, you daren't drink out of the tap here. He twists the cap off of one and rummages through a cupboard for painkillers. He had a whole stash, picking a choice handful he knocks them back and washes them down with a few good gulps. He needed coffee but he'd have to go out for that, he had none in the house. In fact, looking around, he barely had anything. It's as he stands there in the center of the two room apartment between his 'kitchen' and his bed, that Sam's words come echoing back to him. This place is killing you, Jon. Go home. Closely followed by Hade's recommendation to take a good long look in the mirror. He staggers over to the wardrobe and tugs it open, a full length mirror on the inside of the door. Then he stands there, just staring. For the first time, really seeing.

He looked pale, an ashen kind of grey. His hair was lank and lifeless and his cheeks sunken. His eyes clouded, bags you could travel with underneath them. But mostly, his body was a mess. When he'd come out to Puerto Rico he'd been strong, built like a footballer. Broad shoulders and chest and a well muscled stomach and abs. His arms were large and his thighs strong. What he saw in this sober reflection was a shadow of that man. Muscle definition all but gone, thinner, when he turned to the side he could see his ribs. His jeans hung off of him, only kept there by a belt now one hole away from the last, whereas before it had been on the fifth.

"_Well you're not the first guy I've seen come out here and piss it all away. You got something brilliant mate, you could be big time. But not if you keep going like you are, I don't know what the problem is but get it sorted out."_

"_You're killing yourself... It isn't good for you here."_

He bows his head, running his hands through his hair and then clutching at it, he staggers back a step and hits the wall, then slides down it to the floor. Sitting there, head in his hands, hair tangled in his fists. He didn't want to feel like this, he didn't want to deal with it. Get up, get the whiskey, take the pills. Make it all go away. You don't have to deal with it if you don't want to Jon, just have another drink. Take a little more. Do another line. It'll feel better and all the pain will go away. You know you want to. Just a bit more. Whiskey, vodka, tequila, just a little.

He groans and flops on to his side on the grimy carpet. Closing his eyes and curling his legs up to his stomach. So this is what rock bottom feels like. That's his final thought before he passes out.

"Jon.. Jon, wake up mate, can you hear me?"

The world's shaking. Or is it just him? He scowls and groans, the haze of unconsciousness lifting slowly though his heads pounding like he has coal miners in there trying to find the mother-load.  
"Do I need to call an ambulance?" Hade taps his cheek with hand, "what'd you take?"  
"Nothing." He manages, his mouth dry. He felt like he was a hundred years old.  
"Bullshit, there's puke everywhere, this place smells like the inside of a bottle of whiskey, how much have you had?"  
"I just need.. sleep."  
"Yeah, you're right about that. Can you sit up?"  
"Leave me alone."  
"No, Jon, get up."  
"What time is it?"  
"Six, we're meant to be at the show but when you didn't come down I figured I'd come up, didn't think I'd find you passed out on the floor though. Now what'd you take?" Hade holds his face in his hands and examines his eyes. Jon barely focuses.  
"I dunno, it was last night."  
"Last night? You've been out all day?" Hade asks incredulously.  
"I guess."  
"Right, hospital." Hade gets to his feet, pulling out his phone. The mere word brings Jon around from his stupor, shaking his head.  
"No, I can't. I'm alright I just... need a coffee, a shower."  
Hade studies him, eyes narrowed. Jon struggles to his feet. He hadn't eaten anything in around 48 hours and had consumed nothing but alcohol and drugs, of course he was weak. "Alright, shower. I'll go get you some coffee and some food."  
"The show..."  
"Not tonight. They can do without us."  
"But.."  
"Not – tonight. Come on mate." With that Hade puts his arm around him and guides him in to the bathroom. Putting on the shower and leaving Jon to it while he heads to the store just down the street. Jon peels off his jeans and steps under the hot water. It does a little to clear his head and bring him to his senses and once again he finds himself examining his body. The loss of muscle, the paleness of his once tanned skin. He looked a mess, he looked like he was dying. Getting out of the shower he towels himself off and pulls on some sweats in time for Hade to come back through the door with a bag of groceries. He's told to sit and drink a bottle of water with electrolytes in it, while Hade sets to making coffee and some food. Pasta with chicken. Protein and carbs to get his body ticking over again. Soak up the alcohol and the chemicals.

With the TV on, Hade sits by as Jon struggles his way through the food. He manages a good portion of it before he can't take any more and puts it aside.

"Thanks man." He murmurs quietly, sipping on a second coffee.  
"Don't thank me, just sort out whatever shit's going on in your life that's making you do this to yourself."

Jon gazes at the TV. His entire body hurt, from top to bottom. Aches, pains, hangover, you name it. He was right, this place was killing him, it wasn't good for him out here. Vices too easy to come by, temptation everywhere and nobody keeping him focused and on the straight and narrow. He wasn't a guy that liked to admit he couldn't do shit alone, but it was becoming increasingly obvious if he was honest, that that was the case.

"I think... I need to go home." He says quietly.  
Hade studies him for a few moments, before nodding. "Think it's for the best. I don't wanna see another brother go to the grave."  
"You're right, I need to sort some shit out."  
"I'll get on the phone, we'll drop the titles asap. Get you outta here."  
Jon nods again, looking back in to his coffee. The shimmering dark liquid reflecting his eyes back at him. He didn't want to die.

* * *

"Everything okay?" Claire breezes back in to the kitchen and Jon blinks, pulling his gaze away from the photograph and looking back to her.  
"Huh? Yeah, cool. When were you in Puerto Rico?"  
"Couple of years ago, when I was doing my training. Did a short placement out there." She smiles, lifting her glass of wine. A little frown fleets across her brow. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."  
"I'm alright." He shrugs, the memories fading back to their corner in his mind, "was out there a year ago myself."  
"Oh yeah? Holiday or..."  
"Work. Didn't go so well though. Long story."  
"You seem to have many."  
He smirks, moving back over to the counter and reclaiming his beer. "One or two."  
"So.."  
"So."  
"About that bar."  
He smirks, nodding. "You got your knuckle dusters?"  
"How about we forget it."  
"Oh?"  
"I'll make us dinner, and you can tell me some of your stories." She smiles.  
"You never planned on going out at all, did you." He chuckles.  
She shrugs, "it was an option. But I think you and I are a lot alike, Mister Moxley."  
He snorts, "How do you figure that?"  
"We both cut to the chase and know what we want." She says flatly, getting out some pans for pasta.  
"And what do you want?"  
"Right now? Food, you fuck like a champ." She throws him a wink. "Then I want an encore."  
He laughs, tilting his beer bottle in her direction. "I like how you think."

She sets the packet of pasta down on the counter-top and goes to the fridge, getting out chicken.

"Tell me about Sam."

His smile falters.

**Tbc...**


	6. There Are No Angels Here

_Authors Note: Bunch of stuff. Firstly sorry for the delay, Mania week had me all kinds of busy. Secondly I've had people asking about the OC's in this, so if you want faces to them, Kate Beckinsale for Claire and Mila Kunis for Sam. Kinda the closest to how I imagine them in my head. Lastly some of the people I've spoken to have asked me about the inspirations for the story and where its going. It was inspired one day at work when my iPod picked 3 tracks in a row, suddenly the story just burst to life in my head. In order, they are: Katy Perry - Who am I living for?, Coldplay - Paradise, Katy Perry - Wide Awake. If you listen to them, it tells you what's going on and where its going. Or that could just be me being weird. Anyway, tons more to come.. sequel already being plotted. Get used to these guys they're going to be around for a while! Oh and lastly, my favorite chapter so far, personally. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

He grasps her wrists and pins her hands above her head with one of his, pressing them in to the pillow with his fist as she arches herself under him. His other hand smooths down over the curves of her body, pulling himself back a bit to admire her before he tucks that hand between them and uses it to guide himself to her. She lifts her head and nips at his neck but it's short lived as he pushes in to her, flopping her head back against the pillow beneath her and letting out a gasp. She truly was a work of art and he isn't entirely convinced he's not just sunken in to some kind of drunken fantasy world and he's really passed out on his single bed back at the apartment. Rather than here with a girl he'd only just met but was already more taken with than any female he'd met since...

He closes his eyes, not wanting to think about Sam. Though as he sinks deeply inside her, he's not thinking very much of anything anymore. His breath catching in his throat as he gets his bearings, he feels her hook her ankles behind his thighs, encouraging him. He smirks, finally looking down at her to find her grinning back up at him, her cheeks flushed and hot as she strains her wrists against his grip a little. He tightens it, reinforcing the hold with a slight jerk of his hand. She bites her lip and he draws back, before driving in to her hard. Making her arch and cry out. He lets out a shaken breath, everything about her was intoxicating and it was all he could do to keep himself together, utilizing every ounce of self restraint he had to keep this from becoming an embarrassing disaster. He repeats the process until she's practically pleading with him to fuck her, and what man can turn that down for very long? He releases her hands and they instantly go to his back, clawing down it and leaving welts he growls as he hooks one arm under her shoulder and grabs her thigh with the other. Using the grip for leverage their lips meet in a kiss so intense its dizzying, caving to her demands he takes her hard. Losing himself in her, for a while every thought, every worry, everything that had plagued him melts away and she's all there is. Her body soft and warm and tangled tightly around him like a vine. His breathing becomes ragged and her moans more desperate, her fingernails digging in to his shoulders, she breaks their kiss and cries out as he slams in to her faster, his rhythm beginning to degrade, spiralling toward losing complete control.

He manages to mutter encouragement against her ear and it tips her over the edge, she whimpers and curses and calls out his name and the feel of her body reacting to his is the final straw. He muffles his loud groan of release against her neck as he buries himself, his frantic movements becoming a gentle rock of his hips as he rides out the last of it until eventually they're still. Panting hard, their bodies slick with a sheen of sweat as he tries to gather some of his wits back. He felt like he should say something.. anything. A compliment? How do you follow that? He wasn't used to this. He wasn't used to being in a girls bed and not wanting to leave it the second he came. That was his MO after all, get off and get gone. By now he should be up and pulling on his boxers and jeans, out the door in under five minutes. Thanks for the fuck princess, seeya around. But he didn't want to move. He'd known this woman precisely 12 hours and already she was turning his world upside down.

She'd asked him to tell her about Sam and as they ate dinner he'd shared a little. A few of the stories he could bare to recall, she'd listened intently and where as he normally felt like he was being judged by other people, he'd sensed none of that coming from her. He supposed she listened to sob stories day in and day out, she was practised at not looking like she was pitying someone.

He flops to her side as his heart rate begins to settle, staring at the ceiling and finally beginning to take this room in. It was as luxurious as all of the others, in fact he's pretty sure he's never been in a house quite as well taken care of as this one. He can't help but wonder what **her** story is and just what she thinks she's doing with a fucked up loser like him. She sits up beside him and leans over to the bedside table, picking up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter he watches her as she places one delicately in her mouth and lights up, before turning and handing it to him. He takes it, throwing his other arm behind his head after covering himself just enough with the rumpled sheets. The nicotine seeps through his veins and helps the come down from that high, he breathes deeply, finding himself for once quite content with where he was. But how long could something like this possibly last? She holds another cigarette between her teeth and ignites the flame, inhaling deeply as she puts the cigarettes and lighter back where they came from and grasps an ashtray, putting it in between them. She remains sitting up, cross legged and completely naked. Her long dark hair falling around her breasts, she had that freshly fucked look about her. Flushed cheeks, messy hair, sparkling eyes. He grits his teeth a little. They seem to be studying each other.

"This the part where you want me to go?" He asks quietly.  
"Not at all, why, do you want to go?" She asks in return.  
"Oddly, no." He confesses, reaching his hand over and flicking ash in to the glass dish, he returns the cigarette to his lips. "Usually I'd be outta here faster than a knife fight in a phone booth." This makes her chuckle.  
"Oh? What's different?"  
"You're not as full of your own shit as most women I know. In fact, you've barely said a fuckin word about yourself since I met you a full twelve hours ago."  
"You haven't asked, and I'm nosy." She responds casually.  
"Well I'm asking now, what's your deal?"  
"What's my deal?" She lifts her eyebrows.  
"I know you're a Social Worker but I don't think Social Workers make enough cash for a place like this." He says bluntly. She chuckles, bowing her head for a moment and biting on her lip, she deposits some ash in the dish and sighs.  
"I was left this house." She says quietly, "and everything in it. It's not really my style. But I never had the heart to change any of it." She glances around wistfully.  
"Left by who?"  
"My Parents." She murmurs. His expression falls a little. "It's been in the family a long time, my Mother died when I was very young, I was raised by my Father for the most part and... we didn't really get along." She shrugs. "I was your typical out of control teenager, rebelling against the world that did me so wrong when really I had everything, a lot more than the kids I work with today ever had. But when you're that age and spoiled rotten you think the world owes you something." She shrugs. "I was angry, every day. And I got in to a lot of trouble, kicked out of school, drugs, sex, you name it."

He can't help but lift his eyebrows a little, surprised. She wasn't as prim and as proper as she came across, or at least she hadn't been. Maybe that was where he felt a connection with her, maybe they were both trying to shoehorn themselves in to being something they really weren't.  
"I was expelled for fucking my teacher." She chuckles softly. He can't help but smirk at that.  
"You got an issue with sex, girl." He says casually, flicking his thumb over the butt of the cigarette. "You fucked me what, a full six hours after I met you?"  
"You wouldn't be wrong." She offers him a smile. "I was fifteen when I cornered my History teacher and put his hand up my skirt. Hell of a way to lose your virginity. Like I said.. guess I was rebelling against the world. Against my Father wanting me to be this perfect princess. He always used my Mothers memory against me and that just drove me on. I really hated him.. every day. Then on my Seventeenth birthday we had the most enormous fight. He was leaving for work the day after, he'd be gone for three weeks. I told him I hoped he died, he'd never come back." She shrugs solemnly.  
Jon's amusement fades again, he had an idea he knew where this was going. "Ah, shit." He says quietly.  
"He went to work in the World Trade Center on September 11th... he never came out."  
"Jesus." He murmurs, sucking on the last of the cigarette and exhaling slowly.  
"Yeah, I watched him die somewhere in there on National Television... that kind of thing can really fuck with your head."  
"No shit." He doesn't know what else to say.  
"He left me this place and everything in it and I just haven't been able to touch it, or sell it, or move on at all really..." she shrugs. "Turned my life around though, somehow. Stopped being a selfish bitch and started giving back, or trying to. Trying to make up for what a thunderous cunt I was to everybody.. I'm still working on it. And I still have issues with sex."  
"Damn." He answers eventually, her words spinning around in his head. "Guess everybody's got a story, huh."  
"Most people." She smiles, putting her cigarette out. "I'm not a total whore though, by the way."  
He chuckles. "Didn't think you were."  
"I just.. see a guy I like the look of and go after him. Problem is he doesn't usually stick around after he's got what he came for, you're currently breaking all kinds of records."  
"Then I guess this is a first for both of us." He sits up a little, leaning on his elbow.  
"You gonna stay?"  
"You want me to?"  
"I cook a mean breakfast."  
"Then I'm sold."  
"Awesome." She grins, shifting on to her knees and leaning in she drops a kiss on his lips then scoots off of the bed, telling him she'd be right back. It's an old cliché, but he did enjoy watching her leave. Especially the bold and brazen way she just marched around completely naked. He'd never met another female quite like her and he had to admit he was utterly taken. But as he sits up and reaches over for the now warming bottle of beer on the night stand, he can't help but wonder how long until the sheen wears off. Whatever this was, it had happened so fast. Would it almost be better to leave it as one perfect night? After this, erase her number, never speak to her again, never see her. Just leave it a good memory, one of the very few he had. Because if it went any further beyond tonight he was breaking every code he had and those code's had preserved him this far, kept him alive. Kept him just the right side of sane. He couldn't take another Sam, he couldn't take another Heather. He didn't trust himself and he didn't trust them. When it came to matters of the heart Jon Moxley was a complete cripple.

His phone beeps in the pocket of his jeans on the floor and he leans over, plucking it free and finding a text message from Sami asking where the fuck he is. Sometimes the guy acted like his damn wife. He fumbles with the keys and sends back a short message telling him to mind his own business and he wouldn't be back tonight so lock up. They kept their apartment like fort knox, the area they lived in known for various types of drug addict willing to break in anywhere and steal anything just to get the money for a fix. Nothing like this place. He places the phone back down and takes another swig of the beer, leaning back against the headboard. He had a show tomorrow, as much as he was taking a break from Wrestling he still kept his toes in the water so to speak, a tiny Ohio promotion called NWF, he'd do the odd one, just to keep himself sharp. Just in case he ever managed to fall in love with it again. Right now he was working in a local gym but he didn't have another shift until Monday. Working the day after a show was always fun, nursing the various new aches and pains while trying to show people how to use the equipment.

"I brought you another beer." She arrives back in the room still naked and this time with two bottles in her hands. If that wasn't a perfect vision he didn't know what was. And it seemed like this woman was perfectly willing to feed his various addictions rather than attempt to curb them. Or maybe she just hadn't known him long enough yet to know that enabling him wasn't always the best idea.  
"So where do you wrestle?" She asks, perching on the edge of the bed. He lowers the fresh cold bottle from his lips.  
"Right now? I don't, really. I do the odd show here and there for a little promotion called NWF across town but.. I kinda walked out on Wrestling a little while ago."  
"Why?"  
"Ehhh.." he shrugs, not sure how to explain what he was feeling when it came to that subject. "I guess I just reached a point where I wasn't getting to where I wanted to be, doors kept getting slammed in my face. I did everything by the damn book but it got me nowhere. And..." he hesitates, just how much were they sharing here? "Some of the people I was working around just weren't good for me anymore."  
She swigs from her bottle and gives him a small, questioning frown. He sighs heavily.  
"Look, princess. Whatever kinda guy you're thinking I am right now.. you're probably about a million miles away from the truth." He says gravely. Eyes falling to the beer bottle in his lap as he begins to peel the label from it idly.  
"Oh?"  
"I'm not the guy you take home to your parents." He mutters. Then realizes what he's said, internally kicking himself.  
"Well it's a good thing I don't have any." She says flatly.  
"Ugh, see? This is what I mean. I can take anything perfect and turn it to shit in the space of a few words." He looks back to her, "I'm a world class fuck up and whatever you think is going on between us right now, I guarantee I'll destroy it. I'll do something, I'll say something, my fucking temper will explode. I'm just not the 'dating' guy, my last girlfriend hates my fucking guts and she should.. what I did to her.."  
"Cheat on her?"  
"Yes."  
"Hit her?"  
He bows his head, then suddenly he's off of the bed. Placing the beer bottle down and grabbing his boxers off of the floor.  
"Where are you going?"  
"This was a bad idea."  
"Why?"  
"Because, I don't fucking belong here. This ain't my world and I don't do this getting to know you shit.." He tugs his boxers on, grabbing his jeans. "You're a sweet girl and you don't deserve a guy like me."  
"I think that's for me to decide." She says quietly.  
"I think I have to go." He fixes his fly and works on the belt. She sighs and puts her bottle down, getting to her feet.  
"What are you afraid of?" She asks a little more forcefully.  
"Afraid?" He laughs, eyebrows lifting, "What the fuck am **I **afraid of?! Not a God damn thing toots and that's the problem. I'm not afraid of the shit I can do." Liar.  
"So you had a bad relationship." She shrugs.  
"Let's not do this." He says bluntly, grabbing his shirt.  
"You had a bad, fucked up relationship and things got heated and you fucked other women and you hit her.. right?"  
He grinds his teeth together, clenching the shirt in his hand. He sweeps his hair back out of his face and glares at the carpet.  
"You think one action defines a person?"  
"What the fuck do you want from me?"  
"You think because you did one bad thing you're scarred for life, you're shit. You can't be trusted."  
"You don't know what you're talking about."  
"I do.. I sent my fucking father to his death."  
"That wasn't your fault."  
"I pay for it.. every day. My fault or not, I wished him dead to his face, his last memory of me is me telling him I hated him I hoped he died in some horrific way, and that I wouldn't go to his funeral. The act of a perfect 'Princess'.. right? My Father died an awful, violent death and he did it alone, no wife.. and a daughter that hated him after he tried everything he could to make sure I was okay. He loved me, and I repaid him with hate." She moves closer to him, every muscle in his body was tense and he eyes her like a gazelle might eye an approaching lion. "Does that damn me forever?"

She stares at him and he stares right back. A creeping chill moving up his spine.  
"Should I just give up on life, because I fucked up once?"  
"That isn't you now." He says quietly.  
"And it doesn't have to be you."  
"You don't understand."  
"Then talk to me.. don't walk out like this."  
Why wasn't she afraid of him? Usually a woman hears about a man striking a girl and he's tarnished for life. Why wasn't she spitting in his face and telling him to get out. He runs his hands through his hair and grabs at it, letting out a little growl of frustration. His head was a mess, he couldn't navigate the tangled knot it had become in her presence and so quickly.

"I can't.. this isn't gonna happen." He says bluntly, going to move past her but she grabs his arm.  
"Would you stop!"  
"Don't fuckin touch me." He snarls.  
"Or what, you gonna hit me? Hit me, fucker." She challenges. Getting in his face. This was deranged, it was insane. They barely knew each other, less than a day and she had him more heated and twisted than any woman he could remember. "That what you want? Do it, come on!" She shoves him.

His temper flares and his hand snaps out, grabbing her hair, marching her backward until she hits the wall. He glares in to her eyes, seething.  
"Hit me." She snarls right back at him. He grabs her chin with his other hand, his chest heaving. Then he kisses her. The most intense, electric kiss of his life. A passionate fire exploding between them that has her all but tearing his belt free, shoving her hand inside his jeans and taking hold of him. He growls deeply, exploring her mouth with his his hand leaves her chin and slips down between her legs, she was still wet and heated from their last encounter. He shoves two fingers inside her and she gasps, breaking the kiss and tightening her grip around him, making him hiss. She curls her other hand in his hair and looks him in the eye as he works his fingers inside her.  
"That the best you got, fucker?" She growls.

He pulls back from her and grabs her wrists, all but throwing her on to the bed he looms over her and she reaches up, slapping him across the face! He catches her hands, using his far superior strength to toss her on to her stomach. Pinning her hands behind her back in an almost hammer lock he shoves her legs apart with his knees, frees himself from his jeans with his spare hand and tugs her up on to her knees. With her utterly restrained, he takes her in one almost violent thrust of his hips. Her cry is guttural. For a second he thinks he's really hurt her, until she goads him, demanding more. He grabs her hair too, a crude handful of it, tugging her head back as he pounds against her mercilessly. "This what you want, huh?" He pants, cinching the lock on her arms tighter.  
"Is it all you got?" She whimpers back. He snarls, the demon inside wide awake but for the first time in his memory, challenged, rather than dominating. His hand leaves her hair and wraps tightly around her throat. Her whimpers become cries as he fucks her with her everything he has in him. Losing control quickly, the moment more intense and electric than anything he can recall. She swears and calls out his name with her orgasm and the feel of her tightening around him unbearably sends him over the edge. Releasing his holds on her and collapsing over her, pinning her to bed as he grabs her hips and buries himself as deeply as he can. Muffling his growl of relief in her hair.

Then silence.

He slips from her, looking at her as she lay there face down, red welts around her wrists and a hand print on her ass. She lets out a little moan, bringing her legs together and curling up on to her side. His heart sinks, sweeping his mess of hair back from his face. The demon sated, for now.

"I'm sorry." He says quietly. Turning away and sitting on the edge of the bed, tugging his boxers and jeans back in place. Probably time he got going.  
"Don't be." She murmurs, the reply somewhat surprising as he feels her sit up behind him. "I wanted it. Wanted you." She slips her arms around his shoulders and kisses his neck. It's perhaps one of the tenderest feelings he's ever experienced. "I'm not afraid of you."  
"Well you probably should be."  
"Well I'm not." She says quietly. "I'm sorry I pushed you, but I guess sometimes I just see someone worth the fight."  
"Heh, you don't even know me."  
"But I'd like to." She moves slightly, so he can turn his head and look at her. Eye to eye.  
"Why?"  
"I've never met someone as broken as me." She whispers.  
"You're not broken." He lifts an eyebrow. "Slightly bent, maybe." They both chuckle.  
"Whatever, just stay."  
"Alright." He returns the little kiss as she gives it, then she retreats to the bathroom once again to clean herself up. He stays where he is, perched on the edge of that bed. His body drained and exhausted, his mind weary. He'd never experienced anything like that before. Not the violent sex, he'd been as brutal with Heather and half the other ring rats he'd fucked over the years. But the fact that she took it and didn't seem scared by it, in fact she'd challenged it. She'd caught a glimpse of the devil inside him and she hadn't turned away. He'd never had that, he'd never had someone that didn't either want to change him or tame him or just plain run from him. It was an unusual, alien feeling.

He reaches over and grabs the cigarettes, lighting on and inhaling deeply. Holding it in for a time before exhaling slowly. There had to be more to her story with her Father. So much he didn't know and yet for the first time he actually wanted to. He'd never cared about anyone's 'story' before. But he had to know what really made her tick. Fathers were a tricky business, he would know.

* * *

**5. There Are No Angels Here **

"Wait here." He's told by the burly looking Prison Guard just moments after being searched and having everything he carried on him taken off of him like he was the criminal. His heart was pounding but it wasn't because he was in a prison, somewhere he'd been trying to avoid for much of his life that he'd now walked willingly in to. It was because he was about to meet his Father for the very first time. He was 18 years old and after over a year of training with HWA was finally getting in to his career as a wrestler. He was stronger now, built like a footballer. Eating right, off the streets, healthy and more confident in himself than he ever had been. He was trying to leave the past behind and get on the road to becoming the next big thing in Wrestling. He'd make it to the top, there was no doubt in his mind. Already he had people telling him left and right how good he was, that he was a fast learner, a prodigy, a rarity to find and a trainers dream. The once broken down emaciated street kid was now strong as an Ox and getting himself an ego to match.

But then Police had shown up on his door step one morning and asked to speak with him. He hadn't committed any crime in a long time, the last being drug selling and shoplifting when he was 16. But still he'd frozen to the spot and his heart had begun pounding as they'd all but let themselves in to his apartment. They'd come to question him about his Father. It had been something of a kick in the nuts. He'd never even met the guy, he didn't even know his last name. Just a slurred version of his first name from his drunk high whore of a Mother. Apparently he'd been involved in a murder and they needed to know if he knew anything. A fucking murder? His Father was a killer? Well that made a sick kind of sense he supposed.

According to the Police he'd raped and killed a prostitute and they were trying to pin a couple more on him but didn't have enough evidence. Jon had stood there in shock as they'd told him this. But things had fallen in to place like jigsaw puzzle pieces. His raging temper, he'd always wondered where it had come from. Did the blood in your veins carry the disease of your parents? The people they were even if you didn't know them that well, pass on to you? Of course he hadn't known anything about it and had no information to give them, but he was curious, he wanted to meet him. He wanted to look the man that created him in the eye and see where he came from. It had always plagued him a little, wondering who he was and why he hadn't stuck around. He obviously had a thing for whores and had knocked one up. Jon was the result of that indiscretion. No wonder he wanted nothing to do with him, you don't pay for a good time and expect to get a kid out of the deal after all. The Police had given him the information he needed and here he was, getting ready to come face to face with his Father for the first time.

His mouth felt dry and he felt a little sick. His stomach all in knots as the Officer comes back in and gestures to him to follow. There's heavy clanking doors and sets of keys jangling. Jon follows and is led to a room with five cubicles, phones on the walls and glass separating prisoner from visitor.

"Sit here, he'll be through in a few minutes." The Guard tells him.

Jon does as he's told, taking a seat at cubicle three and crossing his hands over on the small desk. His heart was thumping so hard he was pretty sure everybody would be able to hear it. Then there's a muffled clunk of a door and moments later a man in a blue jump suit slumps in to the seat directly opposite him. Jon's heart all but stops. His Father. He had a tattoo poking out from under his shirt, licks of blue fire creeping up his neck and jawline. He was well built but not massive, though Jon could instantly see where he'd got his bulk from. Once he'd started eating right and working out he'd packed on muscle easily, this guy was obviously the same. He had dark sandy hair that hung in his eyes which were dull, grey and somewhat lifeless. His face was etched with lines, rugged, stubble coated. His hands worn and rough looking with a rose tattooed on one and a skull tattooed on the other. Jake – that was his name – picks up the phone and lifts his eyebrows, looking at Jon. Jon finds himself just staring back before he suddenly realizes he's being waited on. He grabs the phone, putting it to his ear.

"Who the fuck are you?" Jake rumbles. He had a deep, gravely tone to his voice. They even sounded a lot alike. "I didn't send for the Backstreet Boys."  
Jon's a little taken aback. For having the gift of the gab, he was suddenly lost for words. "I'm.. Jon."  
"Well that narrows it fuckin down." Jake grunts, putting a cigarette in his mouth and lighting it.  
"You don't know me?"  
"Should I?" He looks bored, scratching his stubble coated chin.  
"I mean you don't.. recognize me?"  
"Why the fuck would I? You some cunts boyfriend or some shit?"  
"No." Jon swallows down the dryness in his throat. "I'm..."  
"Spit it out I ain't got all day."  
"I'm your son."

Jake lowers the cigarette from his mouth slowly and narrows his eyes. Exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Bullshit. I don't have a kid."  
"Yeah, you do." Jon says quietly. "You knocked up a whore in Cincinnati, I'm your kid."  
Jake lifts the cigarette back to his mouth and inhales deeply, the golden embers burning brightly as he considers this.  
"That was twenty fuckin' years ago.."  
"Eighteen."  
"Jesus fuckin Christ, I knew this was gonna be a fucked up day." Jake grumbles, rubbing his temple with his hand. "That whore told me she was pregnant, was fuckin convinced it... you... were mine. I told her to go fuck herself."  
"She said the condom broke." Jon murmurs.  
"Yeah, your Mom was in to some nasty shit.." He chuckles crudely. "Fucked her too hard and, oops. Shoulda stuck it in her ass like I normally did. Bitch got a court order on me for a paternity test."  
"She never told me that."  
"Tried to get child support outta me, all that shit. Skipped out on it, kept moving. Guess I owe ya a beer or something." He says casually.  
Jon pulls in a deep breath, more jigsaw puzzle pieces falling in to place. So his Mother hadn't been lying about getting no child support. He'd always assumed she'd just spent it all on junk.  
"So whatcha want?"  
Jon hesitates. "I.. nothing. I just wanted to meet you."  
"Ah, Hallmark fuckin moment huh. Am I all you expected me to be?"  
"You killed someone."  
"Heh, what gave that away?"  
"Why?"  
"Does it matter?"  
"She the only one?"  
A sly smirk crawls across Jake's face and it sends a chill up Jon's spine. He'd only seen that cold, calculating look in one place before. His own reflection. "You know I can't talk about that." Jake responds coolly.  
"Why did you do it?"  
"Like I said, why does it matter?"  
"Cause I need to know."  
"Cops put you up to this?"  
"No..."Jon clenches his teeth, "I..."  
Jake leans forward, stubbing the cigarette out. "You've felt it too, haven't you."  
"Felt what?"  
"The devil inside.."  
Jon's skin creeps.  
"The little voice that tells you you're master of the universe and you can do whatever the fuck you like. That whore had it coming, they all do. Using their pussies to control us, get what they want. I put that cunt in her place." Jake growls. "You've felt it too, right?"

Jon bows his head, no longer able to look at the man. He wasn't wrong and that was the problem, he'd always thought his mistrust of women came from his Mother, but what if it was passed on from his Father? What if there was some dark, deep rooted sickness given from Father to son that made him think the things he did sometimes. Made him feel the way he did sometimes. But he'd never acted on it, never. Save for the one time he struck his Mother he'd never laid his hands on a woman in anger. But he did look down on them, the ring rats that swarmed HWA and told him all the things he wanted to hear. That he could order at random to suck his dick and they would. His opinion of women was they were there for his amusement. Since Sam.. no woman had ever come close. He'd shut down, switched off, he didn't want to get close. So in his mind he'd turned them in to nothing more than objects for his own gratification.

It was self preservation, right? Nothing evil about that.

"Well just be careful what you do with it else you'll end up in here with me." He chuckles, "and you look like such a pretty boy I don't think you'd last five seconds. What's with the fucking ponytail? You some kinda Faggot?"  
"No I... I'm a wrestler it's part of the.." He's cut off by the mocking sound of Jakes laughter. The man seemed mightily amused.  
"A wrestler? You mean you tussle around on the floor with other guys in your underwear? Jesus fuckin' Christ. Guess I don't have to worry about you killing any whores, you're gayer than a box of frogs. Fuckin A, the product of a whore and a killer.. a fuckin faggot. That made my day."

The laughter echoes in Jon's ears and even as he makes some feeble attempt to defend his job, his passion, the one thing that had saved his life. His so called Father is getting to his feet.  
"You justify it however you want, boy. You're getting sweaty with other guys. Maybe you do belong in here, as someone's bitch. I don't want no Faggot son.. we're done here." With that Jake hangs up the phone and shakes his head, lighting another cigarette and walking away still laughing. Jon could hear the mocking sound long after the guard had let him out and the large steel door had closed.

He hangs up the phone, staring blankly across the room. "Ready to go?" The guards voice pipes up and Jon snaps out of his trance, nodding and getting to his feet. He's led out of the room and as he follows the Guard his expression darkens, blackens, he could feel something else inside him dying. Another part, maybe it was hope. Hope that even though his Father was a killer he might have finally belonged somewhere, have come from someone. But he was a disappointment even to a murderer. Wrestling saved his life.. but in the eyes of Jake Eastman it made him nothing but a faggot. A kid not even a rapist wanted anything to do with. By the time he reaches his car he wants alcohol and a woman, whoever she ended up being. She was in for a long night.

* * *

"Thanks for breakfast." He pauses in the doorway of her home and turns back to her, shrugging his coat on. Claire smiles brightly back at him, leaning in and placing a kiss on his lips.  
"Thanks for an interesting night." She murmurs back.  
"You uh... you wanna do it again some time?" He asks hesitantly. He'd never asked a girl that before, in all his years. She shields her eyes against the rising morning sun and nods.  
"Absolutely, I'm free on Monday.."  
"I have to work in the morning but could swing by after... like.. five?"  
"Sounds good. Want to actually go out this time or..."  
He smirks, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Why don't we figure it out when the time comes."  
"Sounds good. Take care at the show tomorrow."  
Nobody had ever said that to him before. "I will."  
"I'll have to come watch some day."  
"Sure, come tomorrow if you want."  
"I can't, I have to work. But soon."  
"Alright." They share another kiss and her hand lingers on his cheek, gazing in to his eyes for a moment or two.  
"You're not the monster you think you are." She says quietly.  
"Heh, we'll see."  
"I have faith." She winks at him.

He smiles, a rare thing for him. Another first, he'd never really had anybody believe in him before, besides his trainers. But coming from a woman it was a whole different ball game. He cups her face in his hands and kisses her forehead. Saying nothing more before turning and leaving, headed down the path to his car he gets inside and glances back to her as she waves at him and then disappears behind the closed door.

He pauses, taking a moment. Lighting a cigarette. Inhaling deeply, he switches on the radio and music fills the car. A moment or two later he pulls away and swings a U turn in the road, heading home. For the first time since leaving that prison, he had hope.

But hope can be dangerous.

**TBC...**


	7. The Truth Will Set You Free

_Authors Note: SORRY about the delay, lifes been super busy. But the plots really kicking in now. Final nail in the coffin for Jon's mistrust of women, and a major revelation. Enjoy!_

* * *

It's been a long time since he felt any real positivity in his life. With leaving wrestling behind all but completely he'd felt lost and this quest of self discovery had begun. Wanting to speak to his Mother, try and get answers for the million questions that spun around in his head on a daily basis, the echoes of the past that haunted him and woke him up in cold sweats, denying him sleep for days at a time. The memories that drove bottles of alcohol in to his hands and the occasional illegal substance in to his system just so he could function long enough to survive the day without the demons inside clawing him to pieces. When his Mother hadn't been able to see him yesterday he'd felt like it was just another kick in the gut, another knife to the chest. He'd never know, he'd never understand. Thought's had turned briefly to his Father, wondering if he was still in the same place, if it was worth trying to make any kind of contact with the man ever again.

Eventually, he'd found solace in the arms of a woman and while that wasn't a rare occurrence, he often lost himself between the legs of some willing bar girl or ring rat – this time it had been different. She was different. For the first time since Sam he felt like he was connecting with another human being and even though they'd known each other a sum total of 24 hours he knew he wanted to see her again, their lose 'date' to meet up next week couldn't come fast enough. It was against his 'code', against everything he'd promised himself he'd never do. But there was something there, it would almost be a crime if he didn't at least try to explore it. But isn't that how you get yourself hurt?

He sits in his car outside his apartment staring at the world going by as he finishes his cigarette. Compared to her place he lived in a complete slum, he could never bring her back here. Not in a million years, there were some parts of him he never wanted her to see. He flicks his smoke out of the window and gets out of the car, locking it up and heading quietly inside. It was fairly early still and living in an apartment of wrestlers there were likely some sore bodies and thumping heads inside that didn't want to be disturbed. He gets in and closes the door, heading through to the kitchen and wrinkling his nose, it was in an even worse state than he'd left it yesterday. Beer bottles everywhere and pizza boxes too, an overflowing ashtray and the sink stacked with plates, the tap dribbling. Just what they needed, a sky high water bill.

"I gotta get outta here." He grumbles to himself, picking up the pizza boxes and stuffing them in to a trash bag. As he begins to quietly tidy up he wonders what the hell he's doing, since when did he give a fuck what the place looked like?

"Hey man, when'd you get in?"  
He looks up from a stack of beer bottles to see Sami shuffle in in his sweats, scratching the back of his neck and looking for a cigarette.  
"Few minutes ago, you look like shit. Rough night?"  
Sami lights up and looks him up and down. "Fuck that, where were you?"  
Jon smirks, tossing empty beer bottles in to a box.

"You never stay over, and you don't look hungover... the fuck you been doing dude?"  
Jon chuckles, shaking his head and hauling the trash bag up. "Don't ask."  
"I just did! Holy shit, you seeing someone?" Sami follows after him as he heads for the door with the rubbish. Jon smirks to himself. "No fuckin' way.. no God damned way is the great Jon Moxley actually seeing someone."  
Jon tosses the bag out of the door and closes it again, looking back to Sami. "Not seeing, at least not yet." He says cryptically, holding his hand out for a smoke. Sami hands him the packet.  
"Well what's that mean?"

"It means.. I dunno. She's cool, she ain't like all the other sluts and ring rats and manipulative bitches out there. Something real about her." He shrugs and lights up. "We'll see I guess." With that he moves past Sami and heads back to the kitchen, but his little friend follows after him swiftly.

"She someone we know?"  
"No."  
"Well who is she?"  
"She's... a social worker." He mumbles quietly, grabbing himself a beer from the fridge and popping it open. "Look, I dunno what the hells gonna happen, I ain't the relationship type you know that. But she's cool, and being as I'm on this whole.. figure out what the fuck I'm doing with my life kick, I figure, why not? Finally met a girl that doesn't make me nuts in five seconds flat, gotta be worth a second shot, right?"  
Sami smirks and nods slowly. "Fuck her yet?"  
Jon cackles, "Hell yeah, who are you talking to?"  
Sami laughs and moves to the fridge, pulling himself out some stuff for breakfast. "Oh hey, I heard back from that promotion in Philly, CZW.."  
"Oh yeah?" Jon raises an eyebrow.  
"They think I should head out there, meet the guys, see what's up."  
Jon frowns a little. "You really think that's the way you wanna go man?"  
"What's that mean?"  
"Well c'mon. CZW.." he scoffs a little, "they're all.. light tubes and glass and barbed wire and shit. Deathmatch stuff, that's not really.." he hates to say it, after all it took all kinds. But to him despite loving ECW whenever he got to watch it, it wasn't real wrestling. It wasn't what he and apparently Sami had set out to do. "I just mean you go that route, you get yourself a name as that kinda guy.. you cut your chances of ever getting to WWE in half, maybe more than half. You know the rep that place has."  
Sami drops something down on the counter and sighs, "they asked about you."  
"About me?" He asks incredulously, "the fuck for?"  
"Asked if it was true you quit wrestling, few of the guys they got working there know about you. I think you got the wrong idea about the place, it's not all Deathmatch stuff.. there's real wrestling. Some real good guys down there."  
"Yeah, okay." Jon rolls his eyes a little and gets to his feet. "Well I ain't interested, even if I was still in this."  
"Of course you're still in it, Jon. Don't fuckin' kid yourself. You got a show tomorrow with freakin NWF.."  
"That's not the same."  
"Oh what is it then?"  
"That's just.. fuckin' around. Something to do. I still love wrestling I just..." he shrugs, "busting my ass, shows all over the place, travelling, shit money, I'm sick of it dude."  
"You get one knock back and you quit." Sami says flatly. Jon glowers.  
"You don't know shit." He warns.  
"Oh don't I? People talk."  
"People get shit wrong."  
"You get one bad hand and you cash in your chips," Sami challenges, "yeah it was a pretty shitty deal what happened, you pretty much got screwed outta your dream. But have the sack to ante up again man."  
Jon laughs, throwing his hand in the air and stubbing out his cigarette with the other.  
"You got no fucking idea what you're talking about, so just drop it." He snarls. Heading for the door.  
"Yeah, walk away from something else you can't handle." Sami mutters. Jon stops in the doorway, his shoulders tensing. He closes his eyes and pulls in a deep breath through his nose. When he turns the look on his face is bordering on demonic.  
"Don't pretend to know a God damn thing about me, Callihan. You want truth I'll give you truth, you'd be shit without me, you'd be fucking nothing. You'd have stayed a fat fuck nobody gave a crap about in HWA if it wasn't for me seeing something in you nobody else did. Go to CZW, what do I give a fuck, go rip your body apart and become another joke sideshow performer. I was trying to help.. and you spit in my face."  
"What the fuck are you talking about? How the fuck did I spit in your face?" Sami snaps right back. But the demons awake and it's angry, it wants blood.  
"Oh you don't think calling me gutless isn't spitting in my face? You have no IDEA what's going on in my fucking head you little cuntrag, what I went through, what I'm fucking going through. So keep your fucking opinions to yourself." He rages, Sami doesn't back down.  
"Fine, fucking keep yours to yourself too. Sit here and rot in Cincinnati forever. You think you're the first guy to ever have a fucked up past? Have problems? But you act like it gives you some kinda divine right to be an asshole, you hold yourself so far above everybody else we have to get plane tickets just to see you! You've had so many people tell you you're a fucking Prodigy and the next big thing in wrestling and all this shit.. it's gone to your fucking head, man. So much so you get turned down and you fucking QUIT! That's the truth, you know it. You stay here and wallow in self pity and pretend you're not born to do this.. I'll be out there actually going after what I want." Sami waves the spatula in his hand at him angrily.

The words hit Jon in the chest like a gunshot. Suddenly he can't really breathe. Even the demon seems stunned in to silence. He stares at Sami as he angrily goes back to his cooking. His body trembling with the anger of being called out on what was, unfortunately, the complete truth. It had just never been said out loud.

After a moment or two Jon throws his hands in the air and simply leaves, thudding upstairs and showering, getting changed. Before heading right back out the door again, slamming it behind him so hard he's pretty sure he hears the plaster crack. He wrenches the car keys from his pocket and gets inside, starting it up and pulling away with a screech of tires. "He doesn't fucking know me." He snarls angrily to himself, clenching the steering wheel. "He hasn't got a fucking clue. Who the fuck does he think he is? FUCKER!" He yells and slams his hand against the window. A second later the flash of lights in his rear view mirror lets him know he's going entirely too fast. He finds himself standing on the edge of the road taking a breath test at this time of the morning, having just downed a beer and still working off the few he had in his system from last night, he groans as he's told he's failed it.

"You got someone you can call to bail you out?" He's asked as he's led to the cells after going through the process of picture taking and fingerprints and the rest of that bullshit.  
"I don't have anybody." He grumbles quietly to himself.

He's shut inside and he slumps down on the bench, running his hands through his mess of hair and groaning, he flops on to his side. The day had started out so well. Story of his life.

* * *

** 6. The Truth Will Set You Free**

He stands at the bar waiting to be served somewhat impatiently, drumming his fingers against the wooden surface as the barman takes his time seeing to other peoples orders. If there was one thing he truly lacked it was patience. Something he should really work on. When the guy breezes right past him and on to another set of people he grits his teeth, this place always was a complete shit hole, he only came here because the drinks were cheap and wrestlers aren't known for their stunning wages, at least not as his level. Something that was beginning to grind on him also, it didn't matter how much of the game he played, he was getting nowhere and fast. With HWA looking to be taking a nosedive, he had some decision making to do. Maybe he just wasn't cut out for this life, maybe it was a pointless struggle for very little reward. After all, he was no John Cena and never would be. He just wasn't that kind of politician.

He gives up for now and heads out of the bar, somehow he just didn't have the strength in him to get rowdy and cause a scene tonight. People often called him bi polar and he had to wonder if that was true. He could be loud and rowdy and the life and soul of the party one day, the next morose and miserable, a cloud of doom hanging over his head. But hit the right trigger he could go off like a nuclear bomb. Maybe people were right, maybe he did have some kind of issue he needed to address. But he wasn't the sit down and talk about it type.

He heads outside in to the cool night air and digs his cigarettes out of his pocket, flicking the lighter and sparking up he inhales deeply and lets out the breath with a groan, scratching his temple with his thumbnail.

"Hey."  
His eyes flick open and his heart sinks. That kind of inevitable sense of impending doom you get when confronted by an ex. It had been exactly two months since the fight he'd had with Heather, if you could call it that. Two months since he'd lost control, since he'd so very nearly become the one thing he always swore he wouldn't. Sure he and Heather had fought a thousand times, it usually ended up in violent and very satisfying sex. But this had been different, this had been beyond anything that had gone before. He'd lost himself that night, turned in to a man he didn't know and didn't want to. The mere fact he had the ability to do that.. or some so close to it.. chilled him. Knowing what his Father had done. But here she was, standing in front of him once again. She looked good, better than he'd seen her in a long time actually. She'd lost a bit of weight, thrown on some make up and heels. The tits bulging out of the little black dress didn't go amiss either, he always was a boob man.  
"Hey." He responds a little awkwardly after taking another drag on his cigarette, "uh, how.. how've you been?"  
She looks him up and down and he feels like he's under a microscope, "shitty." She answers simply. His eyebrows lift and he takes another deep drag, he was going to need it. "I got fired earlier and now I can't find a cab." She elaborates.

He exhales and it's almost relieved, at least it was nothing to do with him. "Oh, that sucks. Why'd you get fired?"  
She pauses, bowing her head as though she couldn't look at him which was odd, then she returns her eyes to his and reaches a hand out, "can I bum one of those?"  
"Sure." He shrugs, holding out his pack for her to pluck one free. She does so and lights up, then wraps her arms around herself and glances out on to the street. "So.." he nudges.  
"I just needed some time off for.. medical reasons. They wouldn't give it to me so I took it anyway and I'm fired." She shrugs, looking back to him.  
"Medical reasons? What, you get your tits done cause they look great?" He smirks, flicking ash in to the breeze. Careful Jon, he warns himself inwardly. Flirting with this hot mess only ever lead to two things. Fucking and then fighting. It hadn't gone so well last time.  
However, she holds a steady gaze on him that's entirely mirthless. It makes him a little uncomfortable. Frowning.  
"You're not sick are you?"  
"No." She says quietly. "I just... had to take care of something. God.. I shouldn't have come over."  
Now he was really confused. "Hey, don't start getting' pissy with me you came over here."  
"I know and I'm saying I shouldn't, it was a bad idea."  
"Why? I'm not gonna do anything, shit." He rolls his eyes a little, shaking his head and dropping the cigarette he crunches it under his boot.  
"Because I can never keep my mouth shut around you." She blurts out.  
He lifts his head and narrows his eyes at her, confused, "What are you talking about? Mouth shut about what?"  
"I wanted to tell you." She murmurs, blowing smoke in to the wind, "I guess I was afraid. After last time.. what happened."  
They're both quiet and he stuffs his hands in to the pockets of his coat. "Tell me what? What the fuck are you talking about?" he mumbles guiltily. He hated thinking about that night.  
She pulls in a deep breath and looks back to him, fiddling with the cigarette between her fingers. "I... I got pregnant, Jon. It was yours."

The feelings not unlike being kicked in the gut, the feeling of air forcefully leaving his body and panic rising inside. He stares at her slack jawed for God knows how long, before he suddenly reaches out and swipes the cigarette from her hand. It hits the pavement in a shower of sparks and she lets out a little yelp.  
"You're fucking pregnant?!" he shouts it in a whisper, "I thought you were taking birth control? I.."  
"Jon wait.." she holds her hands up to his chest as he all but corners her, the indescribable feeling coursing through his veins. The one thing he never wanted to be was a Father, after having such a shitty parental example himself how the fuck could he ever be expected to raise a child? No, it was his greatest fear, the one thing he'd go to great lengths to avoid. Other men he knew, other guys in the locker room were reckless and seemed to strive for unprotected sex and wear it like a badge of honor. He was borderline OCD about it, and she had told him, he'd seen her take the pills.  
"You didn't tell me sooner?! Fucking Christ.." His hands go to his face, dragging over it he lets out a long groan.  
"You're not listening." She raises her voice.  
"What the fuck are we gonna do? I guess that fuckin' answers a question though.. I can't take care of a kid on what.."  
"I'm not anymore!" She shouts at him.  
He stops in his tracks, he'd already begun pacing. Staring back at her. "You're not?"  
"No."  
"What happened? You lose it?"  
She stares at him, her mouth open but no sound coming out, until eventually she manages the truth. "I got rid of it."

His hands drop from his face. He doesn't quite know how to process this sudden influx of information. One second he's told he's going to be a Father and in the next breath he's told he's not and he got no say in the matter. Sure it was the thing that scared him most but... having the decision taken from his hands?

"I knew you wouldn't want it." She says quietly, "And I can't take care of another baby by myself I struggle enough with Tommy. It was the right thing to do."  
"The right thing... for who?" he forces the words out, his mouth and throat dry.  
"Don't pretend like you'd have wanted it, Jon."  
"I don't know what I'd have wanted.." he mutters, "the chance to figure that out might have been nice."  
She sighs heavily. "Yeah, you really think we could have had a baby together?"  
"So you just throw it away?" He asks, unsure where this swell of emotion was coming from inside him, but he felt it. "You're just... like... her." his lip curls in disgust.  
"Who?"  
"You're all the fucking same.." he shakes his head, his voice thickening as the lump forms in his throat, "all of you. You think a child is something you can just.. throw away when it's not convenient."  
She blinks, confused. "That's not.."  
"When we don't fit in to your lives, aren't part of the plan. You had no trouble opening your legs and making it but when push comes to shove you're just a cowardly bitch that can't take care of her problems. You fucking.. throw it aside, doesn't matter, it's just a life." He turns away from her, wiping his hand across his face.  
"I don't know what you're talking about but it wasn't an easy decision, you think any Mother wants to get rid of her child?"  
He lets a bitter laugh, glancing back at her. "That's exactly what I think. You're just the same.. "  
"Is this about your Mother?" She asks in a tiny, cautious voice.  
He snorts, the magic word. "Don't fucking mention her.. keep her out of your mouth."  
"Your Mother threw you away and you think that's what I..."  
He rounds on her in a heartbeat and grabs the tops of her arms, slamming her back against the wall of the bar so hard she hits her head and yelps. "DON'T! - Ever." He snarls in her face, his entire frame shaking.  
"I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd want it.. I thought I was doing the right thing.."  
"You probably did. I always thought I'd be better off dead." He growls. "At least my kid never has to make that decision, huh?" He releases her with a shove and steps away, grabbing his cigarettes from his pocket and lighting one with a trembling hand.  
"Jon I'm sorry.. it would never have worked out. But I should have told you. I was scared. After what happened.."  
"Yeah." He sniffs, swiping his hand under his nose. "Well I'm gonna do you a fucking favor and walk away, and if you know what's good for you, next time you see me on a night out.." he gestures around, "don't fucking come over."

With that said he pulls the hood of his coat up over his head and turns away, stalking off down the dark street with a sea of emotions he never wanted to face again surging inside him. Women, they were all the same. None of them to be trusted, they'd rip your heart out and eat it as soon as look at you. If he hadn't been certain of it before he was now. Who does that? Who just takes away a decision like that? He understood what he did was unforgivable, but he deserved to know, didn't he? He deserved at least the chance to think on it, to figure out if it was something he could fit in to his life. A child deserved that much consideration didn't it? As terrified of Fatherhood as he might have been, he'd always secretly sworn to himself inside should it ever occur, his child would never go through the hell he did. He'd never feel unwanted or abandoned.

This one had never had the chance.

He catches a late night bus to the HWA building to which he had a set of keys, it's around midnight when he lets himself in to the only place he calls haven in this world. Locking it back up again he turns on a handful of lights and tosses some equipment in to the ring, shrugging off his coat and hoodie and getting inside he warms up a bit before proceeding to pound the life out of some padding propped against the turnbuckles.

So if what he'd done to her was unforgivable, wasn't what she'd now done to him unforgivable too? Did one bad thing cancel out the other? Were they now even? He batters the padding with his right fist repeatedly, letting out an enraged growl before tearing it away and hurling it out of the ring, it crashes against chairs set up on one side, sending them scattering, the noise deafening in the eerie quiet. He slumps down on the mat, legs crossed under him, he buries his face in his hands and crushes his palms against his eyes. Some nights he still had the same thoughts and feelings he did as a child. The same empty, loneliness nothing could fill. He was alone in this world and he probably always would be. To this date he'd only ever met one person that just 'got' him, that understood, that knew the demons inside because she felt them too. And she was taken away.

Maybe it's stupid to cling to someone taken so long ago. But he did.

He smudges away the handful of tears that had escaped, he didn't cry. At least never for very long. Exhausted and a little bit drunk he lays down right there in the ring, using one of the pads as a pillow. He lays there and stares at the walls of the building that saved his life, that gave him something he was good at, something to hold on to. It was so close to being taken away too.

The heavy slam of some kit being dropped down beside him wakes him up, running a hand over bleary eyes he looks up to see his one time Mentor and now friend Cody Hawk standing over him. "If you're here, help me get shit ready for the show."  
"Shit, that's today?" He groans, sitting up and rubbing the back of his neck.  
"Yes, dipshit. There's fresh coffee in the office and a donut I didn't want, go nuts."  
He nods, stretching his back out and then rolling out of the ring, getting to his feet on the outside.  
"You stuck for a place to stay again?" Cody asks as Jon fiddles with his belt. He looks up with a small frown, shaking his head.  
"No, just didn't feel like going home last night. Some.. shit came up."  
"Right.."  
Jon scratches the back of his head again and turns away, only to be called back a second later.  
"Jon.."  
"What?" He looks back to his old friend.  
"Start looking for other things."  
"Whatcha mean?"  
"I mean.. it's happening. Les is closing the place down. It's done."  
For months they'd talked about it, but it had been one of those 'it'll probably never happen' scenarios. Jon's mouth suddenly feels even drier. "You're shitting me?"  
"Wish I was."  
Another punch to the heart, Jon glances around. Taking in the walls and the ring and the posters, the chairs and the equipment. It had been home to him for so long, and now it was going?  
"But we still have a show to do, so, get yourself up." Cody gestures to him, it snaps him out of his reverie. A kind of dumb nod as he turns away and heads for the back rooms and offices. Finding the coffee and the donut Cody had promised. As he eats it without really tasting it, he gazes around the small paperwork filled room. Posters and fliers everywhere. Everything Jon had known, everything that had stood for stability and positivity, going.

In two months he'd lost his woman, his shot at the WWE and now the place he called home. Maybe it really was time to reconsider his options.

* * *

"Wakey wakey, you made bail."  
Jon lifts his head from the hard bench and looks up to the officer standing in the doorway, frowning. "I did, who?"  
"Friend of yours named Sami?"  
Jon rolls his eyes, getting to his feet and grabbing his things as he's led out of the cells and out to the discharge foyer. He finds Sami standing there with a somewhat apprehensive look on his face. The two men share a small smile before he's led to fill in paperwork and given details of when he needed to be seen in Court for his DUI. With that done, he's free to go. Stepping out in to the evening sun with his best friend.  
"How'd you know?"  
"One of the neighbors saw you get pulled over and taken in, we gotta go pick up your car too."  
"Ugh, leave it there." He shakes his head.  
"As if, dude. Besides you need it to take your new girlfriend out."  
Jon snorts, rolling his eyes. "Alright shut up about that."  
"Well it's true."  
Jon stops beside Sami's car, turning to his friend. "Look man, I'm sorry."  
"Nah, I'm sorry."  
"I shouldn't have said that shit. If you think CZW is the right move then you do it. I got your back."  
"I know." Sami smiles. "I already started looking in to places in Philly. You sure you don't wanna come? They're real interested in meeting you."  
Jon sighs and stuffs his hands in his pockets. "Nah, it's just not me. All that.. deathmatch stuff. Not the right guy for that. Guess I'll have to start looking for a new roomie huh."  
"That or I think Jake's looking for a place." Sami shrugs. They get in the car.  
"We'll see, anyone's gotta be tidier than you."  
"Asshole."  
They laugh, Sami driving them to the impound place where Jon grudgingly pays the penalty fee to get his car back.  
"That's another ten million hours at the gym then." He snorts, jingling his keys in his hand.  
"Don't you have a show to get to?"  
"Oh. Fuck.."

Sami laughs as Jon races to his car, luckily his gear was in the back of it. He pulls to a somewhat screeching halt beside Sami's as he's getting in. Leaning out of the window.  
"I'm not a coward." He states flatly.

"I know, you just need to figure your shit out." Sami replies.  
"Working on it." Jon nods.

With that, he pulls away but is mindful of his speed. Certainly didn't need to lose his license completely.

The show goes well and he leaves it smiling, he did still love wrestling. He just needed to figure out where he fit in to it now, if at all. Was there a place for him in the wider world? Or was he just fooling himself he could ever be more than a borderline backyard attraction? Was the name Jon Moxley really worth anything in wrestling circles? So much for the Ohio prodigy.

The next day he works his shift at the gym which is largely uneventful apart from one guy almost knocking himself out attempting a way too heavy Deadlift, falling forward and smashing his face against the wall. Jon was meant to be a professional in these situations, but afterwards had retreated to the fire escape to laugh until he almost wet himself. He picks up his pay check and heads out with his gym bag over his shoulder, getting in to his car and lighting up a cigarette as his phone rings. He smiles when he sees the name on the Caller ID.

"Hey trouble." He answers, hearing her chuckle softly on the other side.  
"Hey yourself, how are you?" Claire asks.  
"Good, just got off work. Whatcha doing?"  
"Just got off too.."  
"Oh really?"  
"Work, pervert." She muses.  
"Hey I never said a word." He defends.  
"I've got something to show you." She says cryptically. This of course gets his dirty brain ticking over double time.  
"Oh you do? What's that?"  
"Come over and find out."  
He glances at his watch. "Alright but I stink, gimme an hour?"  
"I'm timing you."  
"Ha, do I get penalized if I don't make it?"  
"Maybe."  
"Alright, one hour. Do I need to bring anything?"  
"Just you and your dick."  
He laughs, "we're pretty attached."  
"Goodbye, pervert."

With that she hangs up, leaving him smirking. He shakes his head and stuffs the phone in to his pocket, heading home in record time and taking the stairs two at once, he bursts in and heads for the quickest shower. Throwing on some jeans and a shirt and his favorite leather jacket he heads back out again after scribbling a note down and pinning it to the fridge for Sami, telling him to lock up and don't wait up. Wink wink.

He pulls up outside her house with a few minutes on his hour to spare. Finishing up his smoke and tossing it out of the window to a disapproving look from one of her neighbors, he gets out of the car and up the path way to her front door. She opens it before he can knock. "Were you just waiting there or..."

She grabs him by the coat and yanks him inside, kicking the door shut with her foot she shoves the coat from him and it drops to the ground. She begins unbuttoning his shirt.  
"I've had a very long.. and very boring day." She says matter-of-factly, "a pretty frustrating one actually."  
"Oh yeah?" his shirt hits the floor and she grabs his belt buckle.  
"Sometimes I just want to stab these so called parents in the face, if only there was a clause that allowed for that." She sighs, freeing the fastening and undoing the zipper of his jeans. He watches her intently. "That being the case I want to be fucked, immediately."  
"Oh.. well I'm sure there's plenty of willing guys out there if you just..."  
"Shut up." She presses her lips to his and it's game on, his hands tearing at her pristine clothing just as hers had his. She was wearing a little pencil skirt and blouse that was awkward as hell.  
"The fuck.. did you even get in this thing?" He yanks at her skirt. They fall backwards over the back of the couch, laughing as they go. He manages to undo the zip at the back and tug the skirt down her long, slender legs. She really was incredible, what some street schmuck like him was doing with her was a mystery. There had to be a catch, but if there was he didn't give a shit about it right now.  
With her on her back on the couch he looms over her, nibbling and biting his way up her inner thigh, he tucks his thumbs in to her panties and removes them too. Zoning in on his destination with his mouth, she lets out a soft cry and tucks her hands in to his mess of hair. After a few minutes exploring with his tongue he finds the right spot to send her crashing over that giddy peak in almost record time. She's swearing at him breathlessly as he rises up over her, freeing himself from his undone jeans, he catches her eyes with his and the gaze is intense. He bites his lip and guides himself, burying himself inside her and letting out a long groan. She clutches at the arm of the couch behind her head, gasping too. She felt incredible, it was all he could do not to lose it right there and then. A few moments to get his bearings and he begins to move, fulfilling her request and taking her as hard as he dare. She matches him, her hands clawing down his back as she hisses against his ear for more.  
"You asked for this.." he warns, panting heavily. He grasps her legs for leverage and doubles his efforts, the couch creaking beneath them, a vase on the end table wobbling precariously. Her orgasm hits her and she cries out loudly, biting his shoulder. It triggers his own release, muffling his moan in the cushion beside her head, then slumping over her. Temporarily exhausted.

He's brought back to Earth by the feel of her hands drifting over his back. Idly stroking up and down. He lifts his head, studying her. "Better?" He asks with a little smirk.  
"Much." She grins back at him.

They all but tumble off of the couch and on to the floor where he manages to reach his discarded coat and pull cigarettes from it, lighting up two and handing one to her, they lie there on the hard wood floor of her home and smoke, staring at the ceiling.

"How'd your show go?" She asks quietly.  
"Good, nothing to write about but.. y'know."  
"I definitely want to come to one. Can I?"  
"Sure, got another in a couple of weeks. Sunday show."  
"Alright." She smiles. Inhaling on her cigarette and leaning her head against his shoulder. "you know, I feel like I've known you forever." She murmurs.  
He smirks. "Don't start getting mushy on me now."  
"Just an observation."  
"What were you going to show me?" He asks curiously.  
She lifts her head, biting on her lip and studying him for a moment or two. She eventually sits up, sweeping her hair back. "Get dressed." She says quietly, pushing herself to her feet she pads off naked, he listens as her footsteps trail off upstairs. Shrugging, he tugs his boxers and jeans back in to place and does it all back up again, then locates his shirt and pulls it back on, doing up the buttons but leaving it untucked. His attempts at smart never lasted very long. He picks up her skirt, blouse and panties too, draping them over the back of the couch then waits perched on the arm of it, taking in the rest of the room. The photos on the walls, had to be her Mom and Dad. There were files sitting on the coffee table, he couldn't help but shudder at the thought of what a miserable job that must be sometimes. But he's broken from it as he hears her coming back downstairs.

"Do you want a beer?"  
"Sure." He nods. She heads off in to the kitchen and returns a few moments later holding two, handing him one he takes it and sips, much needed after a long day.  
"Sit down." She says to him, moving over to the coffee table and the seat opposite it. He frowns a little.  
"What's this?" He asks curiously, sitting down opposite her, the table and the files between them. She takes a swig from her bottle and puts it down.  
"I did some digging." She says quietly.  
He hesitates, the beer bottle hovering an inch from his mouth. "Digging on what?"  
"At work, our databases.. we keep records forever, it's a mess unless you know how to untangle it." She murmurs, plucking a file. "This is yours." She places one down in front of him and he freezes, going absolutely cold.  
"You... looked up my... you read this?"  
She shakes her head, "No, I honestly didn't. I didn't want to I wouldn't invade your privacy like that. But.. I thought maybe you might want to see it. See.. what happened. Where... where things went wrong. There could be a lawsuit in there, I know it wouldn't change what happened to you but, maybe, some justice."  
"Justice.." he smirks, staring at the thing. "Not a whole lot of that in the world."  
"And this..." She picks up a second file, sliding it over to him. "This is Sam."  
His gaze shoots up from his own file to her face, staring directly at her.  
"I found her."

**TBC...**


	8. Barrel of A Gun

_Authors Note: So sorry for the delay, been battered by writers block so badly. Hopefully coming out of it, enjoy!_

* * *

Thunder rumbles ominously overhead while rain batters down upon the cold dark streets of Cincinnati's poorest area. It was like on this night God had stuck out his finger and pointed, wrathfully declaring; "Fuck this place in particular." - It was a dive at the best of times, ugly and dirty and full of lost and broken people. But on a night like this it closely resembled a damper version of Hell. He hated it, but it was home. The streets were home, were all he had. He knew the places to avoid and the places that were safest, he knew the people you should walk the other way from and the people you could mostly trust, though he didn't trust a damn soul for certain. Well, except one.

He watches from the street, tucked up under the only coat he owned that happily had a hood, the rain trickles off of its rim and gets in the way of his view of the small house in front of him. He stood at the foot of the garden, if you could call it a garden. A sea of poured concrete with a rusted, wheel-less car resting upon it and garbage bags spilled out and infested with rats no doubt, but it was too fucking wet and cold even for them tonight. Despite his shivering, he doesn't look away, doesn't blink. Staring intently and the drab little home with peeling paint and rusted joints and an overflowing gutter system. Ready. Ready if he was needed. What could a young teenager do against a man that had formerly been a Marine and was now a drunken, perverse waste of a human? Who knows, but he would kill him, rip his throat out before he let anything happen to her.

He'd known Sam for a handful of months now and she gave him a purpose, from the moment they met she'd been the most beautiful, perfect thing he'd ever seen. He'd known within days that he'd be with her forever, that there was no force strong enough on this Earth to take her from him. She was all he'd ever had in his young and brutal life, he'd never let that down.

He lets out a breath of a relief as he sees the front door open and her little form slip out shrouded in a coat. She closes the door silently and shoulders a large bag before hurrying down the steps and down the path toward him. He meets her by the broken gate. "Everything okay?" He asks as loudly as he dare, it was almost 2am and this wasn't the kind of street you went waking people up on.  
"Great, I got some of my things.. what he hadn't thrown in the trash anyway." She flashes him that smile and those familiar haunted eyes. No matter what, they always gave her away. Betrayed the hurting child under the layers of now street hardened teenager. It was something he had learned to hide behind an icy blue/grey veneer, but that she just couldn't let go of. He supposed even though he'd endured endless verbal and physical abuse at the hands of his vile excuse for a Mother, sexual torture would put a different kind of ghost in to someone. Something she just couldn't shake.

He hated it, he hated men that put their hands on women. He hated people that hurt other people.. he wanted to hurt them in return. A deep, dark rage building up inside, something bitter and twisted and primal. He didn't like the feeling, he didn't entertain it too much. But it was there and as he'd stared at that house with her in it in such proximity to the man that molested and raped her at the same time as calling himself Dad, he'd felt it inside, clawing it's way to the surface like.. like a demon. Like a monster. That's how it felt. Something he couldn't control born inside him, something he was barely keeping a leash on.

"Alright, lets get the fuck outta here before..."  
The front door swings open and a mere fifteen feet away the ex Marine steps in to the pouring rain in his sweatpants and dirty grey vest, unshaven, mostly drunk, barefooted.. and aiming a shotgun at the both of them. Jon's instinct takes over and in less than a heartbeat he's pushed her behind him and stepped forward, coming face to face with the advancing barrel of a very large gun.  
"Better start explaining what you're doing with my baby girl there boy, before I detach your motherfucking head from your shoulders for kidnapping."  
He doesn't breathe.

* * *

He doesn't breathe. Beer poised near his lips as he just stares at the folder slid across to him. His pulse suddenly racing and the ability to speak apparently stripped from him. He slowly places the beer down and puts his hand on the papers, drawing them a little closer as he swallows down the sudden dryness in his throat.  
"W... where is she?" He asks with a small stammer as he opens the first page of the folder. Seeing her photo there pinned to a file, she was wearing the same shirt she'd been wearing the day they tore her from him in the kitchen of his Mothers shitty apartment. Claire sighs, running her hand through her hair.  
"She's been through a lot, Jon."  
The words chill him, flicking his gaze back up to her. "What's that mean?"  
Claire sips on her beer and then cradles it between her knees in both hands, looking at him intently. "According to the file she was moved through four foster homes before eventually ending up in Springfield."  
"Ugh."  
"She was rebellious, if you read the files. Caused a lot of problems for the families, got in some trouble with the authorities, fell in with a bad crowd with the third family in Columbus." Claire sighs heavily, lifting her hand to her mouth and chewing idly on one of her nails. Jon leafs through the folder. The information seeping in. Shoplifting, fighting, transferred from place to place. It broke his heart. But Claire's heavy sigh brings his attention back to her.  
"What?"  
"As soon as she turned 17 she left the Foster system and for the most part stayed off the radar, but I was able to track her down again and..."  
"And what?" He demands, a frown on his face.  
"She went downhill, fast. Ended up back on the streets, she was... she was picked up a few times by the Police."  
Jon's face hardens and his eyes narrow, his stomach clenching up in a tighter knot. "Where is she now?"

Claire sighs. "She's an addict, Jon. She's currently in a court ordered rehab.. she's been in and out of them for the past few years."

He bows his head, clutching the file tightly in his hand like it was some sort of lifeline and connection to the girl he'd known, the girl that was apparently not here anymore. The Sam he knew would never have touched that stuff, not after her Father. "Where?" He mumbles without looking up. Claire rummages through a few more pieces of paper and eventually finds the one she's looking for, sliding it over to him. He forces himself to look up.

"A facility just outside of Cincinnati, she's been in there a month."  
"What's she addicted to?"  
"I don't know. I couldn't get that information. Social Services reach only goes so far before it becomes medical record and we can't touch those without a court order."

He nods numbly, dropping the folder down and running his hands over his face, groaning. "I shoulda been there, I shoulda found her. Shoulda tried harder."  
"It's not your fault Jon."

"It is, I promised I'd protect her no matter what and.." he gestures to the paperwork. "I mean I'm okay, I might be a bit fucked up in the head and like a few too many beers now and then but I'm alright. I turned out okay. And I left her..." He shakes his head, the thought running through it that now Sam suffered the same afflictions as his own fucking Mother. And it was his fault, he'd turned her in to this. He'd let her go too easily. That sweet girl that lit up his life and had given him something to live for, gone. He doesn't hear Claire's words of reassurance as she offers them, his focus narrowing down to the single picture of her clipped to the file, taken on the day she'd been torn away from him. Those haunted eyes staring back from the photograph, accusing him.

He suddenly gets to his feet, snatching his beer bottle back up and drinking from it, knocking as much down his throat in one go as he possibly could. "I have to see her." He grunts.  
Claire nods. "I figured you would. The numbers on that form, you can set up a visit.. if she wants to see you."

"She'll see me." He swipes his hand across his mouth.

"I think... you have to prepare for the worst." Claire says quietly. "The girl you knew might be gone. What she went through.."  
"I know what she went through, alright!" He snaps, "I know her better than anybody! I know the Foster system, I know addicts, it isn't her. She just..." He trails off, his hand tucking in to his hair and gripping a handful of it, a scowl taking control of his face. He lets out a low growl, the desire to smash the shit out of something almost overwhelming. She just what? Needed to see him? Like he could make everything all better again somehow? Who was he kidding, he couldn't fix shit and he'd never been able to help her in the first place. He'd let her down and that was all there was to it. Jon Moxley, the king of absolute failures.

He feels her hand rest on his back in an attempt to be comforting, right now it felt like nails digging in to his skin. He shrugs her off, moving a few steps away.  
"It's not your fault." She repeats, "you didn't make her decisions for her."  
"I left her out there."  
"She was taken."  
"What difference does it make? A promise is a promise and I gave up."  
"You were a child."  
He groans, downing the last of his beer and turning to face her again. The expression she gets silences her, her mouth snapping shut. She moves out of his way as he stalks back to the table and slams the bottle down on it. He grabs the files and the paperwork.  
"No.. you're not leaving."  
"I got shit to do."  
"Not like this." She gets in his way.  
"Move."  
"Why are you doing this? Why are you taking it out on me? I just wanted to help you.."  
"Help me?!" He sneers back at her, "you've known me all of a week, you don't know a God damn thing about me, what I've been through, what I went through with her. And you present me with all this shit.." he waves it in her face, "like what? You thought I was going to jump up and down and kiss your ass for doing it?"  
She stares back at him completely taken aback.  
"I looked for her for years and you find her in a handful of days."  
"You don't have the resources I do, the records, Jon you cant blame yourself for this!"

"Move."  
"You're being crazy, just..."  
He smirks suddenly, grabbing her arm and hauling her out of his way he snatches his coat from the back of the couch. Then feels her grasp his arm.

"Please stop, talk to me." She pleads.

But there's no reasoning with an angry demon once it's been woken up. The sad thing was the rage really wasn't directed at her, she just happened to be in its way and when you stood in its way, you got hurt. Jon's ability to self destruct truly knew no bounds. Something she finds out as his hand clamps around her throat, pushing her up against a wall and glaring in to her eyes, seething. She gasps for air. "Don't ever touch me. Don't ever think you know me." He snarls. Releasing her with a slight shove that knocks her head against the wall, he stalks out of the room and out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

Claire's hand goes over her mouth as soon as he's left, the tears prickling her eyes. "I was just trying to help you.." she whispers.

He returns to his apartment a short time later with a bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand and the paperwork clutched in his other fist. Kicking the front door shut behind him and putting the bottle to his lips he downs more of the fiery liquid and stomps down the hall to his poky little bedroom, slamming that door shut too and sitting down on the bed, he tosses the files aside and puts his face in his hands. The dark cloud of guilt consuming his mind, a hundred voices swirling in his head. You're not good enough, you'll never be good enough, you let her down, you failed, its your fault. He knocks back more of the alcohol in an attempt to drown out the noise. By the time he can see the bottom of the bottle, he's lying face down on his bed in the dark. Defeated, the demons had control. They could eat him alive for all he cared.

He's roused by a tapping at his door and familiar voice saying his name. Forcing his eyes open in the dim light of his cave like bedroom to make out the silhouette of Sami standing there. His head was pounding, the discarded bottles of a few days drinking discarded on the floor beside him.

"Jon, you alright man?"  
"Fuck off." He grunts, turning over on his bed, turning his back on his friend.

"You've been in here for days, we're worried about you dude."  
"I'm fine."  
"Yeah, holed up in your bedroom surrounded by bottles looks like fine..." Sami sighs, walking further in to the room and over the window with the curtains pulled tightly over it. He opens them a fraction and lets a beam of light through. Jon turns his face away, covering it with his hand. "You missed work."  
"Fuck off."  
"Four days of it."  
He groans. His mouth tasted like the floor of a bar.  
"They fired you man."  
He snorts.

"Yeah cause that's real funny." Sami sighs, kicking some of the bottles out of the way and glancing around the mess. "You sick or something?"  
"No, just fuck off.." He snarls in to his pillow.  
"Not gonna do that, you need to get up. You need to have a fucking shower because I can smell you from here, and you need to eat."  
"I'm fine."  
"You missed a show too, not like you man. What's going on?"  
Jon suddenly snaps, lifting himself and grabbing the nearest bottle, he hurls it in Sami's direction, yelling at him to go fuck himself in the process. Sami easily sidesteps the hungover throw and the bottle hits the wall, shattering. Sami stares at it, then back to his friend. "Well you know what? I'm not fine, I need my best friend to sort his shit out and get up."  
Jon scrunches his eyes shut. "Just leave me alone man. You don't wanna get involved.. just.."  
"Cody warned me about this." Sami huffs, moving closer and picking up a shirt hung over the back of a chair. "Said you get bouts of chronic depression, shut yourself away. Said he's had to haul you back to your feet more than once. So that's what I'm doing.. don't make me call him."  
"Cody doesn't know shit."  
"He's like your brother dude. Talk to me."  
"There's nothing to talk about."  
"Claire would say different.."  
Jon lifts his head, scowling, "how the fuck do you know Claire?"  
"She turned up here the other day, worried as shit about you."  
Jon flops his head back down, "that bitch finds everybody." He grunts.

"That 'bitch' cares about you, which is more than most women you've ever stuck your dick in."  
"Well I'm done with her."  
"That's a shame. She said she tried to help you find someone.. an old friend. And you blew up."  
Jon quiets. Breathing in to his pillow. It smelled stale and old.  
"You should give her a call."  
"Would you get off my dick? Jesus." Jon snarls.  
"No, get up."  
Jon snaps, practically hurling himself to his feet and lunging at Sami in a rage, yelling at him to get out but he doesn't get very far. Tripping over a bottle and landing face down on his carpet. Sami looks at him with wide eyes. "Alright, I'm calling Cody."  
"Whatever."  
Sami sighs and turns to leave. Heading out and leaving Jon where he is, and he's happy to stay there. He just didn't give a shit. He'd let her down, he was a fucking failure at everything so why bother. And now he was fired too, icing on the cake. If he was lucky he could be back on the streets or living in his car by the end of the month. He briefly wonders if he has any alcohol left, then passes right back out again.

The next thing he knows a pair of arms is around him and hauling him to his feet. The worlds a blur but in a matter of moments he finds himself thrown in to the shower with his clothes still on, the water battering down on him almost scalding hot. He gasps, coming to quickly, running his hands over his face. "What the fuck?!"

"Sober up, dickhead." Cody stands over him, hands on his hips and a no nonsense expression on his face. Jon drags his hands through his hair, pushing back off of his face and puffing drips of water from the end of his nose.

"Assholes can't leave anything alone."  
"Nope. Can smell you from the street, shower. Then get your ass in the kitchen Sami's made you food."  
"Ugh, you trying to kill me?"  
"It's a consideration."  
With that, Cody leaves him to it, closing the bathroom door but standing guard outside it. Jon rolls his eyes, staring at the tile wall for a moment or two before forcing himself upright. His head was spinning, he felt like he had an entire cavalry in there doing some kind of march. He peels off the sodden t shirt and tosses it out, it lands with a wet splat on the floor. His jeans follow and he stands under the water, letting it wash away the days of sweat and alcohol. How long had he even been in there? The thought crosses his mind that he'd pissed a few times in to a bottle. Nice. He really was scraping the bottom of the barrel these days. Here's hoping nobody picked it up and thought it was whiskey before he had a chance to get to it. The thought makes him snicker a bit, soaping up his hair and the rest of himself. Eventually he's clean and despite a still pounding head, awake at least.

Getting out and wrapping a towel around himself, he pulls open the door and finds Cody standing right there.

"Fuckin Christ, you a prison warden or what?"  
"Just making sure you don't go right back to where you were. Kitchen.."  
"I'm in a towel."  
"I give a fuck, move." Cody turns him, shoving him in the direction of the kitchen. He goes reluctantly, finding Sami's made him breakfast, or was it dinner? Or lunch? He had no idea what the time even was. Sami hands him a coffee and he's sat in front of the plate of greasy fried food. It does smell good, and even though he'd like to defy them and tell them to go fuck themselves, his stomach growls and he can't help himself, picking up a fork and making a start on it. Cody sits opposite him and Sami to his side, both of them drinking coffee.  
"So what's this about, Jon?" Cody asks quietly.  
"It's nothing, I just... needed to go to ground for a while." He mumbles around a mouthful of bacon.  
"Girl trouble?" Cody presses. Jon lifts his gaze to him and sighs.  
"Sorta. It's a long story.. I don't wanna talk about it. I'm up.. I'm eating.. alright?"  
Cody nods. "Well you're fired from your job. And you kinda pissed off NWF not turning up the other day.. they had plans."  
"It's not like I'm contracted to them or anything." He shrugs.

"No but it doesn't look good."  
Jon sips his coffee, "well, fuck it. What can I do now? Nothing."  
"Apologize to them, and get over this slump. You're a God damn wrestler born and bred, Jon. Everybody needs a time out now and then but I'll be fucked if I'm letting you quit."  
"Not really your decision." He says over the rim of his mug.  
"We're re-opening HWA.."  
Jon blinks.  
"Not for a month or so yet but it's in the works. Got some new people interested in helping with the running.. and we want you."  
Jon lowers his coffee mug slowly, staring at him.  
"You were one of the top names before, we want you at the forefront when it re-opens."  
Jon sighs. "I dunno man.. I dunno if I can keep up that macho jock bullshit."  
"Then do something else." Cody shrugs. "Your name puts the asses on seats. What you're doing? Doesn't matter."  
"Like what?" He frowns.  
"Just be you.." Sami shrugs to his side, speaking up for the first time.  
"I heard in Puerto Rico you'd go off on these rants on the crowd, people ate it up. We were all hearing about it back here. Most of em thought you were drunk.."  
"I was."  
"Well.. however you did it, it was talked about, a lot."  
"It was just.. ranting." Jon lifts an eyebrow.  
"Which you do constantly anyway.." Sami reminds. "Just be you, man. An over the top, overblown version of you. It's not like you don't have a story to tell."  
"Nobody wants to hear that shit."  
"Tell that to Jake Roberts." Cody reminds. "Or Roddy Piper."  
Jon studies them both for a moment or two.  
"Stop trying to be something you're not. Wrestlings changing.. hell it's changed. The Jocks are boring the shit out of people you gotta stand out. You got something really special, Jon. You got the story, you got the ability. Just let it fucking fly.. and we'll give you the platform to do it on. We want to air an online show each week, we can record your promos and put them on there. Whatever you want."  
"Uncensored?"  
"Completely."  
"You're just gonna let me do whatever the hell I want?"  
"Yes."  
Jon smirks, sitting back in his chair, his food nearly gone. "I'll think about it."  
"Do that," Cody nods. "I think it could be something great, if the buzz from Puerto Rico is anything to go by."  
"We all know you're one of the angriest motherfuckers in Ohio." Sami quips.

The word 'Mother' pops in to his head and the lightbulb goes off. Suddenly his minds racing a million thoughts a second. A kind of excitement building up inside him that he hadn't felt in a long time. A character coming to life. Why pretend to be something he isn't? If he's given free rein to do anything then do what he knows best. Alcohol, women, swearing and violence. "I need to get dressed I'm fucking freezing." He says as he finishes his food, pushing the plate away.  
"You're not going to sink back in to a black hole of doom, right?" Cody asks, getting to his feet as Jon does.  
"Nah, man. I'm good." He sighs. "You're right I needed the kick up the ass. Fuck.. I got fired..." He groans, dragging his hands over his face.  
"We'll find you something else."  
"You could start doing more shows in the mean time.." Sami shrugs. "There's a ton of promotions out there want your name on the flyers. IPW, CZW, IWA.. you could test the water. Find your feet with this new gimmick."

"You assholes aren't gonna let this drop, are you." He chuckles a little. Both men shake their heads. "Alright alright, I'll look in to it. Get back on the horse or whatever they call it."  
There's smiles from the both of them.

"But I'm not doing any of that CZW death match bullshit.. " He states firmly as he leaves the room, heading back to his bedroom and shutting himself inside. He glances around at the mess and grimaces, the whole place stank too. He needed to do some serious cleaning up. But first he drops his towel and digs out boxers and clean jeans. Heading to his closet to find a T shirt and hoodie to pull on, as he's rummaging through his hands touch upon an old denim jacket he hadn't worn in years. Something about it gives him pause, pulling it out and staring at it, he turns it to look at the back. The character was coming to life.

He drops the jacket down on the chair and goes back in to his closet, rummaging around at the bottom of it. There were ring boots and training equipment, boxes of flyers and all kinds of junk shoved away so it was just off of his floor. Eventually he finds the box he's looking for, dragging it out. They'd made their own posters in HWA, he pulls the lid off and finds scissors and glue and pens.. and spray paint. He takes the scissors and goes back to his coat, hanging it up on the door of the closet and snipping at the seam of the arm. With one hard tug he rips off the sleeve, then sets about the other. Chucking the sleeves in the trash can near by, he stares at the now armless denim jacket. It needed something. Something to define, stand out, that just screamed obnoxious asshole. He looks back to the box and the spray paint sets his mind in motion. Grabbing the can of red he stands in front of the jacket again and frowns. Smiley face? Too Nirvana. 'Fuck You' was too cliché. A middle finger? Too obvious.

Then it hits him.

He shakes the can and holds it up, pressing his finger down and in a handful of smooth sweeps the name appears.

M  
O  
X

He steps back, staring at it. A grin crawling across his face. He could do this.

There's a knock at his bedroom door and he glances over to it, yelling at whoever it is to come on in. Expecting Sami or Cody to come in to make sure he isn't hitting the bottle again. But when Claire steps in to the room he's taken aback, blinking and staring at her.  
"Claire.."  
"Jon.." She smiles a little sheepishly, her eyes flicking to the coat hanging on the back of the door. "Sami let me in, I had to see you."  
Jon sighs, placing the cap back on the spray paint and moving over to the box, tucking it back inside and putting the scissors in too. He puts the lid back on and takes it to the closet, shoving it back inside. Then he remembers the rest of the room, bottles everywhere, his messed up bed. Grimacing.  
"Place is a bit of a fuckin' mess." He grumbles.  
"It doesn't matter I don't care about that." She shrugs, wringing her hands together in front of herself. "How are you? I was worried."  
"Alright."  
"I'm so sorry." She blurts out. "I shouldn't have gotten involved in your business. Just when you mentioned everything with Social Services.. I work there. I felt like I had to try, like it would be something good for you. And then there she was." She bows her head. "I almost didn't think I'd find her. Now I kinda wish I hadn't"  
He pulls in a deep breath, running his hand over his chin. He really needed to shave. Days worth of stubble making for a rough surface. "I wasn't pissed at you.." he says quietly. "I was pissed at myself."  
"But why?"  
"Because I let this happen to her. I let them take her. You don't understand what it's like out there as a kid and when you make a promise to someone it means more than anything in the world because it's all you've got. We didn't have anything else, just.. that promise. And I broke it. I let her down in the worst way."  
"You were children. They were so much bigger than you."  
"It doesn't matter."  
"Are you going to see her?"  
"I haven't decided yet.. I don't know if I can look at her. I don't know if I can have her tell me I let her down."  
She nods, moving a little closer to him. Lifting her hand she places it gently on his arm and he doesn't back away. "I think you should. I think if nothing else it'll be closure, for better or worse at least you'll know. Maybe she'll be so happy to see you..."  
"Or maybe she'll hate my guts, blame me for everything."  
"Then you can at least explain."  
"Explain how I let her go?"  
"Explain that you tried to find her, that you did everything you could. And hey.. you got there eventually. You have.. found her." She smiles a little. "You never forgot about her, that means you never stopped looking."  
He puffs out his cheeks, bowing his head for a moment. "I'll call them in the morning."  
She smiles brighter, "I can go with you if you want, moral support, just in case."  
He nods. "Maybe." He looks in to her eyes, his thoughts returning to the last time he'd seen her. "I'm sorry about... what I did." He mumbles regretfully.  
"Don't be. You didn't hurt me."  
"I just fuckin turn in to some monster sometimes, I can't stop it... I sound like something from a Marvel comic." He rolls his eyes.  
"It's okay... what's that?" She looks to the jacket hanging up. His gaze follows hers and he chuckles, scratching the back of his neck.

"New gimmick I'm working on, wrestling thing... thinking I might go back to it full time."  
"Oh yeah?" She looks back.  
"Yeah, I'm kidding myself if I think I'm anything other than a wrestler. Just being an egotistical asshole.. things didn't go my way, I wasn't WWE Champion in a handful of years, so I threw in the towel. Stupid.. I'm over it. I don't care." He shrugs. "I just love wrestling, it's what I am. Only fuckin thing that makes sense to me. I don't care where I do it."  
"Well that's good, you should do what makes you happy." She smiles.  
"Think you can date a wrestler?" He asks quietly.  
"We're dating?" She asks back with a sly smile.  
"Not yet." He holds his own.  
"Is this your way of asking me?"  
"It just might be.." he smirks.  
"What does dating a wrestler entail?" She asks curiously.  
"Me being gone a lot, but fucking your brains out when I'm home."  
"Oh.. good deal." She laughs.  
"But you get free tickets to shows and if anybody looks at you funny I knock them out."  
"Even better." She giggles, moving closer and resting her hands on his chest. "Why don't you come back to my place." She purrs.  
"Oh?"  
"Yeah, I'm not fucking you on that.. but if I don't have you inside me within the hour I'm liable to go mad."  
He laughs, judging by the state of his bed he wasn't surprised, not to mention the rest of the room. He nods. "Alright, lets go then." He pats her ass and then grabs a T shirt and Hoodie, pulling them on and following her out of the room. He takes one last glance at the Jacket, smirking, before closing the door on it. For now.

* * *

The rain drips off of the barrel of the gun pointed right between his eyes. It's the closest he's ever come to death. Behind him he can feel Sam's hands gripping tightly to his arms. He can hear her sobs. It wasn't going to end like this.  
"Kidnapping?" He snaps back over the sound of the rain, "I'm sure the cops'll be real interested to hear what I took her away from. Raping your own daughter, you sick fuck.." he snarls. The barrel of the gun wavers.  
"The fuck did you say boy?"  
"Don't deny it, you piece of shit. I've seen the scars on her body, I've seen what you did to her. Girls don't scream in their sleep for no reason, flinch away when you touch them."  
"What do you know? You're a kid."  
"I'm more of a man than you'll ever be." He says coolly.  
"Please don't hurt him, Dad." She cries out.  
"Get your little ass back inside that house Samantha."  
"She's not going anywhere with you." Jon states flatly. "She's done, she's out. You're not getting her back. Let us walk."  
"Why the fuck would I do that?"  
"Because if you shoot me you're gonna have to explain to the cops why you killed a kid that isn't even on your property.." He glances to the ground. He was standing just on the other side of the gate. "And she'll tell them everything.. and you'll lose her anyway and most likely end up in jail and spend the rest of your life taking it in the ass from someone much scarier than you."  
"She wouldn't do that, you wouldn't do that to me would you princess?" He chuckles.  
"I'll tell them everything..." She growls. "Everything you did to me. I hate you. Everything you did to Mom."  
The gun wavers again.  
"We're gonna turn around, and we're gonna leave. And you're never gonna see us again." Jon states calmly, although his heart was racing.

"Samantha..."  
"Let me go." She answers coldly.

Jon holds his breath. The big, scary man now wearing a broken mask on his face. It never feels good to be confronted with the reality of the things you've done.  
"Come on, Sam." He says quietly, using every ounce of strength he has to turn his back on the barrel of a gun. He takes her hand and they walk away. He closes his eyes as he hears the unmistakable scrape of metal on metal. A second later, the deafening boom as the shotgun goes off. Sam's hands fly over her mouth and Jon grabs her, instinct taking over as he tries to protect her from the shot that never comes. Glancing back he sees the body of her Father now minus his head lying on the concrete. Blood watered down by rain, spilling through the gaps in the fence and on to the pavement.  
"What happened?"  
"Don't look.. just go." He says, gripping her hands again. "Just come with me."  
"Is he dead?"  
"Yes."  
"Oh God..."  
"We have to go, it's alright. Come with me.." He looks in to her eyes and she looks back. The trust mixed with tears. "Don't fucking cry for him."  
She nods and they get to their feet. Fingers entwined, they run.

**TBC..**


End file.
